One Night Out On Good Behaviour
by skinnyrita
Summary: HPDM. We've been separated for nearly a month, Potter. Who knows when we'll be let out on good behaviour again? This night isn't over yet. Formerly a oneshot, now a chaptered story due to good reviews!
1. Chapter 1

**One Night Out On Good Behaviour.**

_**I was in a gay club trying to cheer up my mate who had broken up with his boyfriend of the moment. He was dancing with some guy. A fanfiction idea popped into my head. What can I say, other than 'enjoy'?**_

**By skinnyrita**

After reassurances that it wasn't just another gay night, that no, it was everyone's night and that no one would be after him apart from Hermione, they finally got Ron into the club, which was the only club of proper note around the Hogsmeade area. It had taken long enough to persuade the teachers that Harry could have one night unsupervised outside the castle, after a month of being cooped up and watching other seventh years going out on a Friday or Saturday night, nothing was going to hold Harry back. He glanced back and grinned at Ron before securing his mask firmly in place.

It was the masked night that had swung it on letting Harry cutting loose tonight. The idea was that no one would know who he was, he wouldn't take the mask off, and blend in with all the other masked characters in the dark. He left Ron and Hermione by the bar and sashayed into the mass already heaving on the dance floor. There were only a couple of unmasked people. He saw no one he recognised. Revelling in the freedom of being completely incognito, he found the beat and let all the trapped emotions boil up into all the hip-swaying, foot-stamping, fist-punching, arms-flailing, head-jutting dancing that comes with total devotion to the bass. Soon other people started dancing with him. He moved between them, swapping partners sporadically with everyone else. His eyes cast about, slightly impeded by the narrow slits of the striking carnival mask that obscured his face. Strobe lighting and showers of confetti were frequently blasting the club, along with blue mixer lights darting between the dancers. Real fairies were flitting over the bar to illuminate the drinkers, and magical, non-fading glow-sticks were pulsing on the wrists of several of the people near him. It was a fantastic, sweaty night and he couldn't have asked for a better one.

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A male body caught Harry's eye while he was stepping faster, caught in a sort of dance-off with a girl next to him. The pale torso was illuminated greens and blues under the changing lights, running into what looked to be dark wash skinny jeans. He tried to dance closer, but soon lost the other man in the crowd. He had reached the edge of the dance floor again and quickly found Ron and Hermione dancing together.

"I'm going to get a drink, do you want one?"

"What?"

"I – am – getting – a – drink – do – you – want – one?"

"Oh yeah, thanks Harry!" He ordered some firewhiskies.

"You having fun?"

"Yeah this is so great, thanks guys. You okay over here?"

"We're good, go on and enjoy yourself!" Hermione bellowed into his ear, rendering him temporarily deaf, so that when he returned to the bar to pause for a second with his drink, he didn't hear what the man in the gold mask was saying to him.

"What? Sorry?"

The other man leaned in closer to his ear. Harry bit his lip under his mask. It was the man he had seen in the crowd.

"Want to dance?"

Harry nodded, raising his mask a fraction to down his drink. He felt, rather than saw the other man focus on his mouth. The attention struck him hard, making him remember just how long it had been since he had been out of school and free for the night. Pushing away from the bar stool, he let the other man lead him back into the middle of the dance floor to where various types of couples were dancing away from the larger groups. His hands quickly found the snaking hips of his dance partner.

The writhing, sweaty mass was growing, pushing them closer together or risk being stepped on. As he became bolder, Harry let his hands caress the sides of his partner, who responded in kind, swiftly undoing the rest of the buttons on Harry's shirt, revealing the swirl of hair encircling his navel which ran into a trickle that disappeared into his jeans, hands slipping under the back of the shirt to stroke his back as they swayed hip to hip, shuffling their shoulders to the rhythm of the music.

"Come on lover, let's do shots." Harry let himself be led to the corner bar. Firewhiskies were bought and lined up on the counter. He noticed that the shirtless stranger had a lot of money on him and seemed puzzled when he offered to chip in (an offer quickly waved away). He raised his mask a little to down the shots, feeling giddy when the stranger did the same. Harry wasn't the type to eroticise parts of the body, but only being able to see the stranger's lips as they swallowed the red-amber liquid was strangely arousing.

"Who are you?" he shouted into the other's ear. Secrecy be damned, if he was only going to be allowed out once in a purple moon, he might as well be allowed to enjoy it. The stranger seemed hesitant to remove his own mask.

"In here," he gestured to the men's toilets.

Once they were in the stall, Harry was admittedly letting himself get a little carried away from his generally demure self. The man pushed his mask up again just enough to allow their mouths to meet. It was like nothing Harry had ever experienced, frantic and breathy, as if a huge culmination of years and years of sexual tension, hands running over his torso, skimming his nipples, feeling himself starting shamelessly to respond, his shirt getting trampled without care –

"Who are you?" he repeated. Finally the stranger relented; head tilting up as and elegant hand ripped the golden visage from his true face.

The world stopped turning.

Harry froze, gaze fixated on those of the expectant eyes before him. He backed out of the embrace and hit the wall of the tiny cell, hard.

"Malfoy," his lips shaped the word, but who knew if any sound escaped.

His own mask was manhandled off impatiently.

Malfoy stared at him, dismay but not disgust mirroring his own expression. The blonde's lips dispelling one word: shit.

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"Harry?" Harry's head snapped round at the sound of his name outside the stall. "Harry are you in here?"

Malfoy's hand slapped over his mouth. He glanced back at his blond assailant, who mouthed 'don't,' looking stricken. Gently, he removed the hand, glancing at the door and back to the body next to him, weighing options. His tongue flicked behind his teeth. Where was this going to lead?

"Ron?" he called out.

"Harry?"

"Yeah."

"We're gunna go mate, Hermione's getting tired. You coming?"

"I'll stay 'til the end, okay? I've got my wand," he added, still looking steadily at Malfoy, who rolled his eyes and nodded, apparently relieved.

"You sure you're okay?"

"I'm fine," said Harry firmly, "just drank too much. You go on."

They stood, stock still, silent, waiting at least a minute for absolute certainty that Ron would have left the bathroom.

If there were a definition of the awkward moment, this would be it. He stood so close to his school nemesis, in such a confined space, trying not to breathe so heavily, not to look over his body again, not to look at the forbidden lips he'd just been kissing. His chest was tight. A spark of magic crackled down his arm and up the other boy's wrist. Malfoy looked down at it, his tongue flicking over his lips as Harry's gaze trained in on them once more.

"Oh fuck it."

Harry slammed Malfoy back into the opposite wall, the contact making his mouth gasp open to allow him entry again. They kissed urgently, breathing in heavy pants, Harry securing the other boy with his hips as he licked a path up over the sweat-salty Adam's apple and back to that mouth again. Malfoy dropped his head to bite gently on his shoulder as he worked his legs further into Harry's, increasing their close proximity, who moaned gutturally in the back of his throat, dropping his gaze to the fly of Malfoy's jeans as his fingers nimbly worked over fastenings. Malfoy threw his head back, eyes shut. Harry watched him intently, throat dry, as he moved his fingers experimentally. Watching Malfoy's lips make the motions for 'oh God'.

Harry took the opportunity to suck and nip the side of the other boy's neck. A million different voices seemed to be screaming at him that this was Malfoy, that he should not be enjoying this, that he should not want this. All he could think back was that oh God, this felt incredible, Malfoy's body, he wanted to touch all of it at once, and oh Jesus H, Malfoy's firm hand had just encircled his own hardness and it was the most incredible feeling he'd ever had.

They moved together, gazes locked, desperately trying to keep quiet. Harry registered the shudder of Malfoy's body. He was close. They finished together, gasping into each other's mouths, trying not to draw attention to themselves. Malfoy broke the kiss, trembling, resting his forehead on Harry's shoulder. Harry braced them both on the closed stall door, hands sticky.

"Fucking brilliant," said Malfoy, sounding surprised.

Harry laughed breathlessly. Yes, it had been rather fantastic. He tried to gather his mind back together. Shit. This could be bad. This was in fact, already, very _very_ bad. Here he was alone, sexing up his archrival, in a dark club nowhere near any friends, and he had revealed his identity, the one thing he was ordered Not To Do. He opened and closed his mouth, but could find no way of sorting the situation he'd got himself into. He settled instead for shrugging Malfoy off his shoulder and zipping himself up.

A banging on the door made them both jump, practically into each other.

"Anyone in there? We've got surveillance. Not in this club thank you. I'd thank you to come out now, gents."

"Bollocks," Malfoy declared, poshly, buttoning his own jeans efficiently and reaching for his mask. Harry gathered his shirt up and shrugged it on quickly, reaching for his own mask, which was resting on the cistern. He shoved it over his face. He could see it now: Boy Who Lived Caught With Pants Down In Tryst With Malfoy Heir. Just before he could pull the door bolt back, Malfoy pushed his mask up again and captured his mouth, quickly but strangely passionately. Both checked their masks were firmly in place before emerging.

They were firmly escorted from the emptying club.

The bouncer who had removed them was not friendly. "Let's see what we've got under here then," he was saying. Harry backed away. He wasn't going to remove his mask for anyone; he'd already been reckless, stupid, and all in the name of having a good time.

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A hand grasping his startled him out of slow motion.

"Run, idiot!" shouted Malfoy, pulling him along with him until they lost sight of the bouncer in one of the side streets. They crouched in a back doorway. "He's gone," said Malfoy, peering out at the alleyway. He pulled his mask off and dropped it carelessly on the ground. "I take it you're not meant to be seen either. Let me guess, you haven't been out since four weeks last Tuesday."

Harry hesitated, and then removed his own mask. Malfoy was half leaning, half sitting on a crate propped against the opposite wall. There was a good two or three feet between them now. "How do you know that?"

"Because we're doing the same sentence, Potter. Who knows when we'll get out on good behaviour again?" he launched himself back off the crate and stalked towards Harry again, looking scarily predatory. "I'm going to be blunt, Potter. I don't like you."

"Ditto."

"Don't interrupt. I don't like you. But there's no sense in denying that what just happened. Fuck. That was good. And it's only just gone two. There's plenty of night left. Do you understand what I am trying to say here?" His eyes glinted treacherously in the dim light.

Harry opened his mouth and shut it again. He tried to focus on a point on the wall just past Malfoy's left shoulder.

"I… we're meant to be separated. If we'd stayed masked up, none of this shit would have happened."

"We're not separated though," Malfoy was close to him, he could feel his magical signature from here. Harry wet his lips and swallowed, pondering the strange invitation, and more worryingly, starting to see chinks of logic in Malfoy's insistences.

"I want us to have a duel."

"What?" Malfoy stepped back again with a bemused sort of incredulous smile.

"You must have your wand?"

"Well… yeah, of course I do."

"A proper duel this time. Everything bar Unforgiveables." Malfoy started to look as though he might protest. Harry smirked at him. "If you win, you can do whatever you want with me. You're right. Who knows when we'll get out again?"

Malfoy's eyes travelled cautiously over his challenger's body. He nodded, slowly, a crocodile's smile sneaking over his features. "What if you win?"

"I can erase your memories of tonight."

"Agreed."

"You must set great store by your duelling abilities, Malfoy," said Harry dryly. "Come on, I know where we can go that will serve both our purposes." Without looking back to check whether the blond was following or not, he stepped out into the night.

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As Harry mapped the way to the Shrieking Shack, he felt Malfoy fall into step with his strides, their forearms occasionally jolting each other as they loped up the side of the hill. He could feel the Slytherin's reluctance to enter the place, but he certainly wasn't about to voice any fears to Harry, and he preferred it that way. They did not utter one syllable to each other until Harry, fumbling in the darkness, uncovered the hidden entrance he, Ron and Hermione had once created when they were hiding another potion. They creaked silently into the old house. Malfoy took his wand out, ignoring Harry who immediately eyed it warily, and conjured some blue flames, which he transferred into one of the broken lamps.

"What is this, Potter's dream house?" he scoffed, looking about at the disturbing mangled furnishings and clawed walls without much of a flicker.

"Come on," Harry ignored the barb, leading him upstairs, to the bedroom where Ron had once lain, years ago, with a broken and mangled leg. He pushed aside rising memories of Sirius. Now was not the time.

Malfoy brushed some strands of hair out of his eyes, taking in the surroundings, smirking at the bed. "Well aren't we keen."

Harry ripped his shirt back over his head and tossed it onto the four-poster. Wand in hand, he turned, adrenaline re-awakening his senses. "Are you ready?"

"I won't bow to you, Potter."

"That's alright. I'm not the bowing type."

"One."

"Two."

…

"Sectusempra!"

"Protego! Petrificus-"

"Furnuncula!"

They duelled faster and faster, and Malfoy was good, better than Harry remembered. Twenty minutes later and they were both covered in blood and hex-marks, and standing, sometimes kneeling, or doubled-up, squirming, so near to each other that every hex that hit home did so with such intensity that it might has well have been an Unforgivable after all.

Harry had Malfoy pinned beneath him. He was personally in a lot of pain. His mouth tasted like blood and bile. His chest bone felt smashed somehow. His wand was at Malfoy's temple. The tip of it pressing into the skin above his left ear. Malfoy's wand was hard against his own head. They paused, suspended.

"What now?" Malfoy sounded uncertain.

"Do you want to call it a draw? We both agree to lower our wands. End of duel."

"What did you want to happen if it was a draw?"

"I don't know."

"Swear on your mother's memory that you will not erase anything in my head."

"I swear. On the count of three, we lower our wands and drop them on the floor. Agreed?"

"Agreed. One… two… three…"

They lowered their wands at a snail's pace, then released them. Malfoy coughed bloodily. Harry rolled off him and onto his side. He looked across at Malfoy's torso. It looked like a wreck. Gingerly, he reached over and ran a forefinger across the other boy's mouth. It came away with a coat of fresh blood. Shit.

"Malfoy, I'm going to heal you up as much as I can."

"Get your fucking wand away from me!"

"Malfoy! Merlin, you're losing blood. Come here." Despite protests, he began patching up the other boy as much as possible. Malfoy began heaving himself up as much as he could, shaking the cloudy haze from his eyes.

"You're practically dribbling blood." He fished about for his wand, recovering it and starting to turn Harry a little, this way and that, fixing up the worst areas. Harry's breathing began to come a little easier.

Malfoy gave a rusty laugh, lowering himself laboriously back down into the thick dust that covered the floorboards. "My original idea was a lot less pain-inducing."

Harry wheezed and rolled onto his back. "We were separated for nearly a whole month. Had to get a month's worth of fighting out of the way. Besides, I expected you to give up a lot sooner."

"Like I would ever let you Obliviate me. You would've had to kill me," said Malfoy, quietly.

Harry sat up, remembering what he had been going to make the other boy forget. Malfoy shifted next to him, turned his face towards his. Harry swallowed. This game had been going on for a while now, and what if Ron woke up and alerted someone that he was still out and missing in the night? If they discovered that Malfoy was out too all hell would break loose…

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"What time is it?"

"Four-ish."

Malfoy drew him willingly closer, and met his lips gently, mindful of injury. Harry shivered. The wham-bam attitude of the club was gone. All there was now was the two of them in this house, alone in the dwindling night. Malfoy drew back a little, his gaze dropping down. "Shit, your marks are bad," he said, softly, sounding regretful, tracing his fingers over Harry's bruised chest, "my healing charms aren't up to as much as my dark arts, apparently…"

"Don't mind it," Harry murmured, the hand not supporting himself ghosting over Malfoy's collarbone, which had a bright purple bruise blooming across it, then down to his navel, eliciting a sharp intake of breath, "I've had worse injuries…" the gentle touch of Malfoy's mouth against the base of his neck caused him to moan lightly with sensation. He lowered the blond back onto the floor, carefully, taking the opportunity to swipe his tongue over the space between the Slytherin's navel and the waistband of his jeans. Malfoy panted loudly in surprise.

Harry leaned over to capture his eyes. "Do you want to move this, you know, to the bed?"

Malfoy's smoky gaze shimmered down his body, and back up. "I thought it was a draw."

"It was. I've determined the terms."

"Go on."

"That you're right. Who knows when Dumbledore will let us out again? We'll be separated again. And what happened was… I don't end my nights with a fight, generally. If you still want…" his gesture took in the whole room, "this, then yes. Okay. I don't know what you want to do with this, but we've still got at least an hour, maybe two before we'd be missed. Enough time to get to the hospital wing and let Pomfrey finish us up before we can sleep away Saturday. So…?"

"An eloquent proposal."

"It wasn't meant to be eloquent."

Malfoy sat up again. They helped each other painfully up. The bed was equally as dusty as the floor, but at least it was softer. Malfoy turned away and started ridding himself of the rest of his clothes. Harry fumbled with his own. "Turn around." Malfoy turned. Harry drank him in. He wasn't about to say it, but Malfoy was certainly a pretty, a beautiful sight to behold, even covered in bruises and the occasional hex mark he hadn't been skilled enough to get rid of.

Naked, Harry walked around Malfoy slowly, taking in his pale, practically hairless skin, with the exception of his pubes and leg hair, which were a sandy brown colour. His arms and legs were sculpted without too much muscle. You could see the slight ridge of his bottom rib on each side. He was slightly taller than Harry and had a more model-esque build and stature.

"Finished inspecting me?"

"Yes."

Malfoy circled him, examining the uneven natural tan, how his arms were a shade or two darker than his legs, how Harry was markedly hairier than he was, how his calves and his biceps looked solidly muscular without being ridiculous, but his stomach had a slight, barely-there roll of fat on it. He looked stronger than Malfoy did when he looked in the mirror, and more masculine, despite standing with a slight stoop.

He pulled Harry to him, not quite so gently as before, so that both hissed with a little pain before their mouths met again, this time with more urgency after seeing all that was laid out for them. Malfoy pulled Harry over to the bed and they collapsed on the top of the coverlet, tangled together, skin to skin. Gently, he removed Harry's glasses, which had only just been re-repaired a few minutes ago.

"Hey, I want to see you perfectly."

Malfoy licked a trail up his neck, over his chin to reclaim his mouth, speaking softly into it. "Feel me instead. Tell me what you want."

Harry hesitated, arching into the blond. "You can top." Malfoy groaned softly in response.

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"You alright?"

"Yes… don't stop. Nugh, keep doing that."

"God, Potter…"

"Kiss my neck."

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Around six thirty, Madame Pomfrey was disturbed from her morning cup of coffee and Daily Prophet by a most unwanted knock on the door to the hospital wing. All set and ready to drum into one Albus Dumbledore just how unwelcome his early-morning disturbances were, she banged open the door to discover two of her regulars on the other side, wearing looks that said, 'no questioning, thank you for your concern.' With almost no fuss at all she briskly attended to some very dubious looking marks. No comment was made when vanishing a clear love-bite was necessary.

The castle was making waking noises. In a not so distant corridor, an argument was taking place at full volume. A girl and her boyfriend breaking up on a sunny Saturday morning.

Malfoy fussed with his hair, half turned away from Harry. They shifted over, out of line of the doors to the hospital wing they had just exited. "Sleep's looking good right now."

"Sleep. Right, yeah."

"Think Pomfrey'll rat us to Dumbledore?"

"I don't think so."

Malfoy turned back to him. "Here's to the next four week's separation then."

Harry snorted, idly focusing on the carved skirting board behind the other boy's right ankle. In daylight, in school, the previous night was looking like a very dark, potentially dangerous memory. If there were such a thing as higher powers, he thought, please let them forgive me for what I am about to do.

"Come here," he muttered, pulling Malfoy into a more secluded alcove.

"Careful Potter," whispered the blond, breathing lazily on his cheek, offering a quick lick. Harry shuddered as fantastic, gasping memories of the Shack floated to the top of his head. He leaned in for a last, languid kiss, holding none of the frantic urgency, and all of the regret for what he was about to do.

"Bye, Malfoy."

Malfoy smirked and squeezed his hip flirtatiously before escaping back into the main corridor and starting to beat a retreat back in the direction of the dungeons. Harry felt for the door handle veiled by the tapestry hanging behind him.

"Obliviate."

By the time the bewildered Slytherin had a chance to glance back round, disorientated and giddy, Harry had disappeared.

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**The End.**

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I'd love to know what you thought of this fic! Please leave me a review, any length will do! Thanks lovelies! xxx 


	2. Chapter 2

_Some of the reviewers for this fanfic were completely aghast that I could leave 'One Night Out on Good Behaviour' as just that –one night. And yes, I know I swore blind that it would stay as a one-shot, but now I just can't resist –the plot bunnies called and insisted that I write a second part as a bonus feature in time for Christmas –so Merry Christmas everyone. I shall no longer say that I would not continue this fic, but I had such a positive response to the original one-shot that I don't want to ruin it, so we shall just have to see how people react, and what is asked for. I really don't have a lot of time to write for amusement anymore, unfortunate as that is.

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**One Night Out on Good Behaviour: Part Two: _Why Do You Get to Remember_?**

It had been three weeks since Harry had been out in Hogsmeade. Three weeks since he had allowed Malfoy to seduce him, to involve himself in a horrific duel, and then proceed to consummate their mutual hatred and apparent attraction in a very final manner. Three weeks since he had successfully obliviated the entire experience out of the other boy's head.

Three weeks of fear.

That three weeks had quite possibly been some of the most strung out and personally stressful of Harry's year so far. Every time he glimpsed sight of Malfoy in the Great Hall, he was convinced that small flickers of confusion were starting to pass over the other boy's face. They had no lessons scheduled together, thank God, else he was certain that the waiting would drive him to distraction, and even if nothing else occurred, he would certainly be failing his NEWTs. The carefully enforced separation of the two students had at first been strangely annoying, since it deprived either party of a feasible and reliable source to vent his frustrations on, but now it was a definite relief. He reflected on the irony of how much he missed seeing the hateful blond head bobbing in the front row of the Potions lab before him as he walked the corridors, sick with the fear that the smallest trigger might cause Malfoy to suddenly recall exactly what had happened on that most strangest and unexpected, fantastic of nights three weeks ago.

And then it happened.

Harry was totally unprepared.

It had begun on the Quidditch field, which should have been inevitable, but Harry had in fact been so focused on trying to win the game that he simply hadn't had the time to worry about anyone else. There could have been no Quidditch Tournament without the two houses having to meet at some point. Harry was focused on this goal with a concentration bordering on fanatical. It was his last year, after all, the last of his reign as Gryffindor Quidditch Captain and Seeker. He had a stellar team, ruthlessly handpicked, blind to the flattery of friends and admirers trying to charm their way in, and admitting a couple of people who he actually did not get on with barely at all, but whose talents on the pitch he could not deny to himself. They had to win.

They won.

It wasn't the final of the Tournament, not by any means. But it was a good start and had been an important match. Slytherin had and would probably always be their biggest competitor. That was just the way the houses tended to fall out.

Harry spent a good amount of time congratulating his team and de-briefing them after the match. He was justly proud of their efforts, and knew that they were now over their biggest hurdle. He was hoping that Ravenclaw would flatten Slytherin in their last match before the semi-finals –Slytherin were not putting up a particularly stellar side this year. He reflected on that, as he slowly started getting changed, left alone in the changing rooms. Malfoy had not been made captain, and although he was not being replaced, was certainly not on his usual good form. He was still pondering this when his solitary reprieve was interrupted by Malfoy himself barrelling into the changing rooms in a fitful rage:

"You! Outside, now Potter you bastard!"

Harry turned round, hardly able to cover his utter surprise at the habitually cold and collected Slytherin entering in such a manner. He stood frozen to the spot. Malfoy's face was red raw with anger and frustration, and it didn't take a genius to figure out that he had finally been axed from the Slytherin seeker's position. At the lack of response he charged forwards and shoved Harry forcefully backwards. His head narrowly missed the coat pegs as his legs hit the benches behind him. He threw his hands out against the wall quickly to right himself.

"Don't take it out on me just because you're playing crap, Malfoy," he said evenly, knowing he was baiting him but not caring. Malfoy roared in frustration and wrestled him onto the bench and then to the floor. Harry kicked him hard. Malfoy trapped his legs under him to stop him hurting him and looked down, face flushed and humiliated.

Then he froze.

Harry stopped breathing, watching the unmistakeable expressions of déjà-vu pass over his face. He shut his eyes briefly, praying, then opened them again. Malfoy looked horrified.

"Oh God."

"Malfoy…"

"Oh My God!" Malfoy paled and shook his head. Harry swallowed, guilt hitting him so strongly that he thought that he might throw up. "You did it, you erased my memory," he whispered, and to Harry's complete horror, his eyes filled with tears, and something indefinable, something worse than pain, something a lot like disappointment. "Were you that FUCKING DISGUSTED?" He screamed the last words mere inches from Harry's terrified face. "Were you?" Harry opened his mouth but no words came out, so he shook his head as well as he could. He felt paralysed. "Why? Why did you do it? You swore you would not."

"I had my fingers crossed," Harry croaked, stupidly. It was definitely the wrong thing to say.

Malfoy drew his fist back and began hitting Harry as hard and as much as possible. "You – fucking - bastard! Why do you – get – to – remember - it?"

"Stop, stop hitting me."

Malfoy stopped, emotionally drained. Harry gingerly wiped the blood off his face.

"I'm so sorry, Malfoy," he whispered.

"No, you're sorry that it didn't work," said Malfoy, blandly, his gaze somewhere on Harry's neck. "You bastard. You could have erased everything. Everything."

"I'm sorry," Harry repeated, quietly. He had been stupid, he realised. Malfoy could easily have forgotten everything; who he was, what he was doing day to day… everything. "I didn't think…"

"No you FUCKING DIDN'T!" He bashed Harry into the floor one more time. "Tell me what happened."

"W-what do you remember?"

"This." Malfoy leaned down and kissed him. Shortly but deeply. Harry groaned. "And I know you like it. What did we do, and why did you do that to me?"

"Do you remember the club night?" Malfoy frowned, and nodded slowly. "We were dancing, in masks. We-" Harry paused and moved his gaze to over Malfoy's shoulder.

Malfoy moved closer to him. "We what?"

"We jerked each other off in the loos," said Harry, quickly.

"What was it like?"

"Fucking incredible," he replied, meeting his gaze again.

"And then?" asked Malfoy, darkly. Harry flinched.

"We went to the Shrieking Shack and duelled. It was a draw. We were wrecked and had to patch each other up. We fucked on the four-poster up there," said Harry, baldly. "You topped."

Malfoy's face froze. "We went all the way?"

"I thought you remembered."

He shook his head. "How could you?" he whispered. He rolled off Harry and lay on the floor staring blankly at the ceiling. "Why should you remember and not me."

"I thought it would be easier if it went away. We're not supposed to see each other anymore. We didn't make a truce. I didn't know what… I…" ridiculous excuses. He glanced sideways, bottom lip bloodied and bruised by his top teeth. Malfoy's eyes were shut. When he spoke, his voice was tight and humiliated.

"You took my virginity."

Harry shut his own eyes. He wanted to be sick. "Fuck."

"I don't remember."

Harry pressed his lips together. He felt tears trickle out of his eyes and across his temples into his hairline. He had to get out of there. He sat up quickly. Malfoy didn't stop him. He was nearly at the door when –

"Parole is this Friday night. One evening in the Three Broomsticks. Meet me at eleven at the shack. You will make this up to me, Potter. We are not done." Harry turned at the unexpected sound of Malfoy's cold and authoritative voice. It was unsettling that he could change so quickly back to his habitually commanding persona. Harry nodded once although the other boy was not looking at him, and left shaken.

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The Shrieking Shack was still and deserted as always when Harry approached. It was three minutes to midnight.

"Behind you."

He whirled round to see Malfoy emerging from under a large hooded black cloak that had been camouflaging him in the gloom. He was so undeniably attractive that it made Harry feel ill again with guilt.

"You have your wand?"

Harry nodded dumbly.

"Let us in then."

Harry fumbled around in the dark for a few moments until he found the secret entrance and let them in. They stumbled on the wrecked furniture. Harry found an old lamp and lit it. They took in the dreary unromantic surroundings in silence.

"Where were we?"

"Upstairs." Harry climbed the stairs, shakily. He paused on the threshold of the bedroom. The room looked the same. The bed looked relatively un-rumpled, but then again they hadn't actually got into it.

"This place is a dump," said Malfoy, starkly.

"Sorry," said Harry automatically. He took a breath for a minute. "It didn't seem important at the time. We were drunk. You said we should sleep together. I said we should duel. We could do both here." He turned round. Malfoy stepped further into the room.

"I stood here," he said, slowly. He turned sideways. "You… stood there." He shut his eyes for a moment. Harry breathed in and out slowly. He remembered those moments himself. His appraisal of Malfoy's naked body, beaten, hexed and battered. Completely perfect. He had got to have it all first, without even realising it. He was a prize idiot. He edged a little closer to him. "Take your clothes off." He stopped walking. Malfoy had not turned round, but his face was almost in profile to him. "Take your clothes off," he repeated. Harry's heart stopped.

He complied.

Malfoy rested his hands gingerly on the sides of Harry's naked waist as he examined the appearance of his torso. Harry's chest tightened, his eyes shut tight. Every single muscle in his body was tensed to the maximum. The taller boy's breath coasted over his neck, causing him to breath shallowly before his lips were captured. An embarrassing gasp-half-moan escaped him and they parted briefly, Malfoy's unsure fingertips ghosting up over his nipples and into his hair before they kissed again. Harry breathed frantically as his fingers blindly found the fastenings to Malfoy's cloak and shirt, which he managed to open but couldn't work out taking completely off. Malfoy stopped kissing him and disentangled himself. He glanced at the bed.

"I can't believe I let my skin touch that filthy thing."

"But you know we did."

He nodded. Taking out his wand, which Harry cast a wary eye over, he transfigured the hangings and coverings into new blankets and drapes, all perfectly box-clean. "God," Harry whispered to himself. Malfoy took the opportunity to divest himself of his remaining garments until like Harry only his underclothing remained. He turned and offered a rather defiant expression. He raised an eyebrow. Harry nodded. "You're perfect."

"I know."

"You know, you don't have to do this, Malfoy."

"Yes, I do." They were against one of the bed's posts.

"You don't have to do this… with me."

"Yes, I do," he repeated it to himself, so softly that Harry had to lip read the words as they fell against his collarbone. He was horrified to feel an unmistakeable wetness against his skin. He raised the other boy's chin from his own neck, to confirm his suspicions of the silent, thin trickle of tears on the Slytherin's cheeks. He kissed them away and lowered the blond onto the fresh bed.

"I would never have known it was your first time. I'm truly sorry. You do believe me, don't you?"

"This is my first time. Right now."

"But-"

"You're on top. Give it to me."

888

"Are you okay?"

Malfoy rolled away from him so that his back was to Harry. He nodded. Harry crumpled into the sheets beneath him, trying to shake away the cramp that had taken hold of his foot. Apparently he was better in the sack when drunk, or at least more uninhibited. This time round had been elbowy, awkward and highly strung-out as he tried to concentrate hard on giving the other boy all the pleasure he could. He berated himself. He was a fool. This time had been the best of his life so far. Not that there was a good deal to compare with. He glanced sideways. Malfoy's cold, unfriendly back was still turned to him. He started to get up.

"Don't." A surprisingly warm hand stayed his arm. He turned back. Malfoy had turned onto his back. Harry quirked a surprised half-smile and leaned on his elbow. The boy truly did have a fantastic figure, much more aesthetically pleasing than his own. "Whom else have you slept with?"

"Only two people, including you."

"Who else?"

"Just someone over the summer. No one you would know."

"Some muggle," said Malfoy, disdainfully.

Harry smiled slightly. "You want to get into this bed? I think even my goosebumps have goosebumps."

They bundled into the bed, naked legs entwined and chests together. Harry was about to lean in and attack Malfoy's neck when the blond spoke again: "We're both going to die." Not a question. "I wonder when it will happen." Harry stared at him, startled.

"You won't die."

"We both will. There's nothing to be done about it. How do you want to go?"

Harry licked his neck, considering. "The killing curse, I guess."

Malfoy groaned. "Not very Gryffindor. Not very chiv –kiss– chivalrous."

"It's instantaneous. I'd rather not have it drawn out, when it happens."

"When it happens."

"Yes." They stared at each other. Then kissed, painfully.

"Do you fear death?"

"No. You?"

"Fuck no. But I prefer it like this, feeling alive," Malfoy stated, running his hands over and between their bodies. Harry kissed him as though death was only a minute from the door. They both knew that that could be sooner than even they were prepared for.

888

"Ron, where are you?"

"Ssh! I'm here! Look, here's my hand!"

Ron and Hermione were under the invisibility cloak and it was dark. Three o'clock in the morning and dark.

"Look! The entrance is open, see I told you…"

"Hermione, would you shut up!"

They had been looking for Harry since one, when they had finally decided that they should take it upon themselves to look for their friend before the professors realised that he was missing from his allocated evening out –despite the fact that they would indeed be breaking 'about fifty' school rules.

The duo slid into the shack and rooted about. "Come on, let's try upstairs," Ron was whispering.

"I can't see a thing…"

"Take my hand."

"No…" Hermione heard Ron's low, aghast plea just before she reached the threshold of the bedroom she had met Sirius Black and Peter Pettigrew in, in her third year. Her breath caught. Entangled in the bed and thankfully asleep was their quarry. With Draco Malfoy. "No Fucking _Way_…"

"Ron, no!" Hermione threw the cloak back over them and dragged her boyfriend into an alcove, her hand firmly over his mouth. "Silencio!" Not a moment too soon. Their scuffling had started to rouse Malfoy. Hermione kept a firm grip on Ron's straining arms. He raged at her uselessly.

Malfoy ran a hand through his hair, making it lie down again, taking the opportunity to look at his watch. "Shit," he muttered. "Potter, wake up," he nudged the other boy briefly before fishing about for his boxers and putting them on under the covers, then repeating the act with his shirt which was within reasonable reaching distance. The shack really was cold. He sighed exasperatedly. "Wake up!" No response. He smirked wickedly and licked a trail up the other boy's neck to his mouth, and captured it. Instant alertness. Hermione felt Ron's arms go limp in her grasp, but she didn't let go. His lips were pressed tightly together, nostrils flared.

Harry and Malfoy grappled in the bed until Harry was on top. He was grinning. Hermione thought she might cry. Harry caught Malfoy's wrist and glanced at the watch. "Shit." He let him go immediately and sat up. He ran his fingers into his already messy hair, resting his elbows on his knees. The sheet pooled in his lap.

"Are you sorry now?"

Harry turned quickly and gave the blond a shove. "You know I'm not. We shouldn't have slept. They'll be sending a fucking search party after us. Damn it…" he shifted to the other edge of the bed and started to put his clothes on. Malfoy watched him for a minute, clearly pissed off, then put the rest of his own clothes forcefully back on, angrily. Harry turned round. The Slytherin had his back to him. "Malfoy-"

Malfoy turned back to him. His eyes were red. He spoke fast: "I lied, I don't want to die."

"Fuck," Harry turned away, rested his hands on the window ledge. Malfoy stepped around the bed and spun him back to face him. "I don't want to die. I can't," said Harry, earnestly, "I can't, I'm not ready yet."

Malfoy smeared the other boy's tears off his cheek, as he echoed the same. "I'm not ready to die."

"Swear to me that you won't…"

"I can't…"

They were grasping great folds of each other's clothing, kissing, crying. Hermione registered Ron's silent tears before she even noticed her own. They quickly calmed again, sort of hugging, but more like supporting each other. Malfoy looked down at the shorter boy and cupped his cheek with one hand. "Don't erase it."

"You know I won't."

"Hands."

Harry lifted both hands, fingers splayed to show that he didn't have any of them crossed. They laughed. Malfoy glanced at the watch again. "Time to go."

"Night, Malfoy."

Malfoy grinned lopsidedly. A real grin. Then he was gone.

Harry took an audible deep breath, and nodded once. He looked calmer than he had in a long, long while. "Glasses…" they heard him mutter to himself. After some blithering about he managed to locate them, and with a final wistful glance at the new bed, shrugged on his cloak and also departed into the early dawn.

Ron crumpled to the floor.

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_Well that was the end of that! What should I do with it? Leave it? I can be left. I am still updating my chaptered fic, Crocodiles, which should be my first priority. Hmm. _

_Merry Christmas everyone, and please REVIEW! _

_Skinnyrita xxx_


	3. Chapter 3

Thank you, everyone, for your very encouraging and demanding reviews! I know I have taken a long time to put up another chapter, but I am happy with it, and I hope you are too, because there needs to be some tricksy character development for this story to work out properly, and yes, I have an idea of what is going on now. As you may have gleaned, this has now become a 'chaptered story'. I will be re-writing the summary and status due to this development, so I take this opportunity to warn you of this.

Thank you for your ongoing support and suggestions for this story, all that remains now is for you to read the next part, and do let me know your true opinions through reviews or email. I apologise in advance that as the semester draws to it's finale this year, I am even busier than ever, and stress is heaping on with extra cream, so there will probably be very erratic postings.

disclaimer: I own no part of the Harry Potter franchise, and do not write the following story for any financial gain.

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**The Secret:**

_The Third Night Out on Good Behaviour._

(A: Interlude)

The night was drawing in around him, but Ronald Weasley did not make any motion to get up from his seat before the intricate chess game he was at present seemingly engrossed in. He was playing both sides, black and white, which he liked to do sometimes when there was no one else around who was worthy of playing him. It wasn't that Harry and Hermione were so poor at the game, but that they did not have the patience and the practice he did when it came to chess. He was not arrogant enough not to be able to see the irony in this –Hermione's logic and Harry's temperal state far surpassed his own in general. Yet when it came down to chess, Ron Weasley was the authority. He was calm, and calculating, and strategic. If he could only find a way to apply that philosophy to his studies he might not be currently failing Potions. Ron liked playing both sides of the chessboard. He played both sides equally, he was not pitting the white, for example, to lose against the black simply because he had decided that he was keener on the black winning today. No, rather he played each side to win, so that each side had to be given a different strategy, and allowed him to find any loopholes in those strategies. The game might go on for days. The current game he was immersed in had been started at six am that morning, when fitful sleep had proved more exhausting than being awake, and he was in desperate need of something to occupy his busy brain.

It was almost five weeks since he and Hermione had tracked Harry to the Shrieking Shack, and made the ghastly discovery that had plagued Ron in intervals ever since. Tonight, however, he was more agitated than normal, as Harry would be allowed out again tonight, and Ron had a very shrewd idea of whom he was going to see the morning in with. He considered his own emotions, again, as his forefinger came out to touch the head of the black knight. Stupid move. He deferred to the Rook. One of the most important features of playing both sides was that he had sworn never to cheat, even though no one would know. He had come to the decision, largely prompted by Hermione, to not tell Harry what they had discovered in the shack that night five weeks ago.

They had discussed this decision at length. Hermione was distraught, not that they had found Harry with Malfoy, but that he had clearly discussed with the Slytherin a certain topic which they both knew Harry always went out of his way to avoid touching on with either of them. That topic was death. Ron's hand shook as he turned the board in order to survey the white side. Harry was a very emotional person; he understood that. He knew that Harry had severe intimacy issues after a painful and confusing childhood, some striking revelations which kept cropping up like little mines littering the path of his life, and obviously with everything that had happened in fifth year concerning the prophecy, and his blatant refusal to talk about any subject in any way close to it, it was obvious that Harry would probably think about his own death a lot. Ron understood all of this. But he had always had the impression before that Harry was not resigned to death; that he was aware of the possibility but that being Harry he would find some way to pull through, as he always had in the past. Perhaps there had just been too many near misses for him to rule it out as an actual, factual possibility now.

Ron blasted a pawn, angrily, before immediately regretting it. The shattered pieces of the little pawn trembled at him reproachfully. One of the white bishops started shaking his head at him. He sighed and turned the board again. What really got him was that he hadn't figured out for himself just how sure Harry had become that his death was on the horizon. Why he'd seen fit to suddenly start confiding in Malfoy of all people was something even he could not begin to speculate on; the issue was so complex that it pained Ron to try to think it over again. Malfoy himself was clearly convinced that he was going to die as well, and why not? These were dangerous times they were living in, who knew what was going to happen? But still, it was not something any of them ever talked about. They didn't want to, they had learnt to suppress it, to 'get on with life,' as his mum would say; so why did Harry give all of this emotional information to Malfoy? This was a question that Ron had no answer to, and that he couldn't even begin to imagine bringing up with Harry. That he and Hermione had interrupted such an explicitly _private_ scene was bad enough, without all the other emotional baggage that accompanied it.

Harry and Malfoy. Together. Ron crossed his arms in frustration and gave the black king a stern glare. He had tried, in the midst of the night, in his own curtained haven, to try to make more sense of the situation, but to no real avail. It wasn't clear when the 'relationship', if that's what it was, had started, and why, but Ron had tried to hazard several guesses, and the most likely seemed to be, and this was painful for him to conjure: that Harry was lonely without Malfoy. Now Ron, on the other hand, Ron could do very well without Malfoy. Having Harry and Malfoy deliberately parted in lessons so that they could not distract each other, given curfews and watchers so that they couldn't find and bait each other in the corridors, had given a new element of relaxation to Ron's life. No more Malfoy, no more insults, no more duels, no more wasting time when to be honest Hermione was right and they should be saving the energy for NEWTS. However, Ron pondered, slowly uncrossing his arms again and nudging a black bishop, he had Hermione. There was a fatal flaw in their friendship of three now that he was with her. What was Harry supposed to do? Certainly, Harry had a lot of friends. And even more admirers. But none that he would trust as implicitly as himself, Hermione, and on occasion, Ginny. In fact, Ron concluded, sitting upright, there was no one who knew Harry quite as well as they, but if he had to hazard a guess as to the next nearest person… was it Draco Malfoy? The thought filled him with dread and relief in equal terms. He shut his eyes and visualised the chessboard before him, before opening them with a snap, a new strategy formed: the black queen was about to bite the dust.

888

(B: The Night)

Harry entered the Shrieking Shack and noted a lit oil lamp left pointedly just inside the secret entrance. He swallowed in anticipation and picked it up before making towards the stairs. The guilt that had washed over him in steady waves since he had told Ron and Hermione to walk on back to Hogwarts without him because he felt like enjoying the Three Broomsticks until closing, began to ebb and die as it was replaced by a strong sense of expectancy, hope, eagerness…something he couldn't place but that was building in a little corner of his chest.

It was hard to say what he expected concerning Malfoy. Certainly he didn't hate him quite as much any more, though there was anger there. Lots of anger. Harry was well aware of the more un-enjoyable relationship that had previously existed between them, and was not about to forget it just because he enjoyed the physical attributes of the blond. However, no matter how in lust he might be with Malfoy, and how far he may try to play the whole thing off as simply a consequence of this lust, he knew deep down that it was not the case. The emotional connection he felt with the boy was almost even deeper than the physical level. Harry did not want to be involved with someone who hero-worshipped him, who admired him for all the foolish things he had done, he wanted someone who hated him, who saw him for exactly what he was: someone who was led into danger again and again and only barely escaping by the dumbest of luck, and whose ego, whose 'saving people complex' would never let him rest until he had achieved something that would in all likelihood probably end with his own death. Malfoy got that. Malfoy _was_ that. If he didn't know any better (and maybe he didn't), this 'thing' with Malfoy was precisely that which would orchestrate the end of Harry Potter.

Malfoy wasn't in awe of him, and he didn't expect Harry to be a hero. In fact, almost the opposite: they were both going to die. It was just a question of When, and How. It was morbid to dwell on, but in a way it all came as a sort of relief. He had reached the top of the stairs; a light was showing under the door of the bedroom.

888

Malfoy was facing the window, turning sharply when the door creaked open behind him. He relaxed his tense shoulders. "You're extremely late." It was hard to tell whether the comment was meant in good humour or not.

Harry offered him an apologetic smile. "Seemed best not to try to suggest Hermione and Ron leave without me. It's a bit suspect."

Malfoy tilted his head at him before closing the gap between them to rest one hand on his waist, and hooking the other through his arm to reach the door and shut it behind him, cutting off the draught. "You decided not to tell them," he stated, quietly. Whether he approved of the idea or not, Harry couldn't really tell.

"Our little secret," he said, flippantly. Malfoy gave him one of his intense looks, then leaned down and kissed him carefully. Harry felt the door at his back but paid it no attention than a passing recognition. How he had missed Malfoy! The thought struck him hard as he gently encouraged the taller boy to deepen the kiss, periodically breaking contact for air, keeping their faces close, noses touching. He shouldn't miss Malfoy, but he did, and not just because he was a randy seventeen year old and hoping that the night was going to have an even better finale than kissing. He actually missed seeing the other boy's face. The perfect blonde head, aristocratic features and sweetly mocking mouth. He hadn't seen him for nearly five weeks, and the separation was excruciating – only once had their path's crossed, when Harry had suffered a minor Quidditch practice injury and was forced to go along to the hospital wing, hobbling valiantly down the same stretch of corridor as Malfoy and whoever had been allocated to ensure he didn't break any of the complex rules that had been set out since their separation. They said nothing to each other, only their eyes locked for the briefest of moments before Malfoy was ushered away. In that one look, Harry knew that they were not done yet.

They parted slightly, arms still entwined. Harry fingered a lock of Malfoy's hair between his fingers. "You thought I wasn't going to come," he murmured.

Malfoy inhaled audibly and adjusted his gaze to over Harry's head. "I wasn't sure."

"I don't play that game, Malfoy," Harry said, firmly, before pulling him down for another kiss, one that was short but affirmative. It served its purpose. Malfoy's steely eyes softened slightly and his expression relaxed.

"Do you want to duel tonight?"

Harry laughed, recalling their first meeting, and the painful outcome that had accompanied it. "Yeah, yes I do actually."

"Good. I learnt some pretty easy healing charms in class the other day, so it shouldn't be too much of an issue."

"Everything bar unforgiveables?" Harry affirmed, pulling his t-shirt over his head and locating his wand.

"Everything bar unforgivables," Malfoy repeated, mimicking his actions, folding his robe carefully on the end of the bedstead, which still had their new sheets covering it, Harry noticed with a hint of promise. "And don't hold anything back on me, Potter, you know I won't do you the same courtesy."

"I know."

"Ready?"

"Yes."

They duelled for nearly half an hour. It was the most intensive workout Harry had done in a long time. By the time they called it quits (Malfoy was the one to back down, an utter surprise,) they were both covered once more by blood and hex marks, though not as badly as they had been on that first night when they didn't know whether to kill or kiss each other. Now they both knew that they did not want to kill the other, not really; the prospect of the coming intimacy was too tempting to let go. Harry inhaled and exhaled slowly, carefully regulating his own breathing and undergoing a mental body check before addressing his attention to Malfoy. The other boy was looking a bit battered, his hair was ruined, but apart from that there seemed to be no lasting damage. Harry shook the last remnants of a jelly-legs jinx out of his foot and lay back on the floor, head hitting the wooden boards with a dull clunk. Malfoy's face hovered above him.

"I'm good here, what about you?"

"I think you might have broken a rib," said Harry tightly, "on the left. Might be a bruise…feels wrong."

Malfoy leaned over and ran a hand over the area. Harry hissed as he passed over the offending spot. A flicker of magic crackled down Malfoy's arm and out of the tips of his fingers, pulsing into his body like an electric shock. Harry gasped and sat up. "God."

"I know, it's pretty good," Malfoy affirmed, smirking at his own brilliance.

"God," Harry frowned, but only as he gathered the feeling back into himself, "that was so weird… felt like your magic was inside me for a minute." He adjusted his gaze to Malfoy's own eyes.

"Inside you," Malfoy repeated slowly. He smirked and pulled Harry down on top of him. Harry grinned and was about to attack his neck when he suddenly shoved him back again and turned away quickly before forcefully sneezing four times in succession.

Harry laughed. Malfoy spluttered. "Come on," Harry pulled him back up until they were standing. "There's about six inches of dust on that floor and I am now covered in it. What you say we shake this crap off and get into that inviting bed over there?"

"I say that I –do I have dust in my hair?"

Harry laughed, "come on you pansy."

"Hey!" Malfoy gave him a not so gentle shove. Harry curbed the familiarity a little. He wasn't used to bantering with the Slytherin. Malfoy reached out and unbuckled his jeans. Harry breathed in a little. Malfoy's body was a little intimidating. But he needn't have worried. The blond pulled him closer. Harry took the opportunity to explore his back while Malfoy stuck his nose in his hair again and planted a small kiss of promise behind his ear, saying, "Have me again." He sounded a little unsure to Harry, but maybe that was because such a request was probably bordering on 'dirty talk' for the more inexperienced boy, and that it was also potentially embarrassing should Harry suddenly decide that maybe this wasn't for him after all. But he needn't have worried either. Harry would be more than happy to comply with such a request. He pulled back slightly so that he could look at Malfoy properly.

"Are you sure? You don't have to." A rather more forceful kiss than expected was his answer.

888

Malfoy lay sideways on, one arm propping his head as the other explored the chest of the sleeping boy next to him. He was gazing at Harry's chest but he wasn't really focusing on it, nice as he found it to look at. He watched his own pale fingers trace patterns on the lightly tan skin beneath them, falling and rising steadily beneath them. He thought about Harry, and considered. Harry was very gentle with him between the sheets. He liked that. Malfoy was not good at intimacy, but he did like the sensation of Harry having sex with him. Almost making love to him. It was nice. He thought how long and slow that whole part of the night had been. How they fought at top speed, and drew out the softer part, trying to make it last as long as possible, how Harry seemed to practically body-worship him, green eyes watching his reactions intently. Malfoy had never been the centre of someone's 'purpose' like that before. He liked it. But he was worried that he would only like it if it were Harry. Because Harry thought that he, Malfoy, was 'perfect', and maybe it was egotistical of him, but in a way that made Harry in some way perfect as well. Alright, he reasoned to himself, maybe Potter only finds that perfection in my body, to which all I have to thank is some good genes, a few hair products and a fine sense of style, but battered and beaten as I must look now (my hair feels _disgusting_…) that's got to count for something.

He wondered how long they would keep sleeping together before they both realised how wrong and potentially dangerous it was for them. How presumptuous to even think such thoughts! They had only been in this position twice before, and one of those was still extremely hazy. Had he really topped to Harry that first time? He looked down at the other boy's sleeping face, wondering how he had done it. He couldn't remember. The thought that Harry might want him to repeat the action filled him with trepidation bordering on dread. It was harsh, but the overall opinion of himself he had formed was that Harry was pretty good in bed, and that he, Draco, was decidedly not. He wondered how long it would be before he was discarded.

He yawned and glanced at the watch dangling on his thin wrist. It was nearly time to wake Potter, but he didn't want to. The secret world they had created would disappear for another four or five weeks, and he wasn't sure if he could handle the separation this time. He shook himself angrily: now was not the time for sentimentality. He gritted his teeth and hastily shook the other boy into consciousness.

888

Harry opened his eyes sluggishly, a lazy half smile sneaking onto his face at the sight of Malfoy above him. He yawned with a groan, teasing his vocal cords into waking. Raising one heavy arm he pushed Malfoy away from him so that he could roll over on top of the other boy. "Morning," he leaned down and kissed an enticing looking nipple.

Malfoy groaned, "we have to get up." Harry shook his head vehemently, continuing his trail to the blond's navel.

"Hogsmeade weekend. Won't be missed," he mumbled.

Malfoy panted loudly and pulled him back to him for a kiss, reversing their positions. Harry blinked at him. It was uncommon for Malfoy to take the initiative. He had concluded that he preferred not to. But sadly it didn't seem to be more sex that the other boy had in mind. "You know that's not true, idiot," he said sternly. "They'll be sending a search party, it's nearly six am. You and your fucking celebrity…" as if to soften the blow more than anything else, he leaned down and kissed Harry again, more gently this time, one hand in black hair, and the other skimming down the slightly fatty but nicely muscled torso, which he found infinitely preferable to his own scrawny physique. Harry made a sort of moany noise into his mouth. He smiled against him. He felt a sense of achievement at being able to procure such a sound. He could be rather cruel with this if he wished. He broke the kiss.

"Time to go."

"You're fucking with me," said Harry, astonished and hard.

"Clearly not," said Malfoy loftily, clambering off him and locating his clothing. He began pulling it on. Harry lay propped up on his forearms, watching him with a dazed expression.

"You are such a fucking bastard," he stated baldly, but with little malice. Malfoy sighed and finished dressing. He turned back to Harry, straightening his collar and slipping his wand into a back pocket.

"Potter, I thought you would know that by now," he said snarkily. With a smirk, he leaned over and slipped a hand beneath the sheets. In four unromantically harsh strokes, Harry was spent. The sense of achievement grew. The Gryffindor stared at him in amazement, red-faced. "Until the next prison break," said Malfoy, planting a perfunctory kiss on his brow. Without waiting for an answer, he turned on his heel, and the last glimpse of him became a flutter of back robes. He was gone.

Harry lay back in bed, panting, giddily left to wonder what had just happened.

* * *

please review, many thanks, skinnyrita xxx 


	4. Chapter 4

Hello, thank you for being patient. This week I have four deadlines, but as I have just completed the three essays, I thought I would put this up. It's longer than the last one, but I hope just as good. Criticism and comments welcome, as ever.

Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I do not own any part of the harry potter franchise, and no monetary gain is rendered from this fanfiction.

* * *

**Not Exactly A Boyfriend:**

_The Fourth Night Out on Good Behaviour._

Harry sat in Transfiguration, chin propped on steepled fingers, staring blankly at the pinecone he had been instructed to transfigure into a working clockwork toy. The point of this exercise escaped him. He highly doubted that a clockwork mighty-mouse could defeat Voldemort. On his other side, Hermione was taking great glee in showing off her own, now three-piece, clockwork marching band, as she began fashioning another drummer. Ron seemed to be in a similar position to him, simply staring at the pinecone, and occasionally giving it an optimistic nudge with the tip of his wand. Harry roused himself and poked the pinecone half-heartedly. It turned a sort of pinky colour. He blinked at it, and then decided he didn't care. He folded his arms and laid his head on them, sort of lazily watching Hermione's, now five-member, marching band parading up and down her desk, out of the corner of his eye.

It had only been a week since he had watched Malfoy walk (_strut_, he thought) out of the door of the shack. God, was he feeling impatient! He had received the date of his next release from Professor McGonagall that morning just before the Transfiguration class had begun, a short meeting in which she had informed him that due to his good behaviour and compliance with the newly imposed set of rules, he would be able to spend Halloween night in Hogsmeade, at the fancy-dress themed night advertised at the club he had visited before… so long as she saw that he had not behaved in any way inappropriately before that time. So unfair, he thought, bitterly, watching the clockwork band clashing cymbals and beating on tiny drums as Hermione looked on smugly, after all, it wasn't as though he'd actually done anything wrong. He hadn't asked to be Harry sodding Potter, after all. Bloody hell.

He must have groaned out loud in despondency, because the next thing he heard was Hermione's loud and unwelcome tutting in his direction. He glanced up. "Harry, would you stop getting all Emo on us and do something, please?" said Hermione crossly, fixing him with a frown.

He sat up. "I am _not_ getting all 'Emo' on you, I can't do this stupid pinecone," he said, irritably. Hermione sighed loudly in response. "Neither can Ron!" said Harry, defensively.

"Hey, drop me in it why don't you?" Ron remarked petulantly on his other side.

"Oh _honestly_!" said Hermione, annoyingly, as she proceeded to show them both exactly how to turn a pinecone into a clockwork toy. The torture continued until the end of the lesson, and Harry momentarily forgot his previous train of thought as he replaced it with some studied sulking in Hermione's direction.

888

Harry managed to get away from both Hermione and Ron in the lull between lessons. That was probably the best part of Ron and Hermione dating: while Harry could easily escape when Hermione morphed into teacher-mode, Ron was usually less lucky, due to the power of the unwritten rules of dating, which stated that even when Hermione was at her most irritable, unless she had actually done something significant to wrong him, he must stay with her if she wanted. Harry, however, was free. He had a free double period before lunch, as Care of Magical Creatures had been cancelled due to bad weather, so he wandered around aimlessly, until sheer boredom forced him into the library.

It was, he mused, as he seated himself at a deserted back table and dutifully pulled the pinecone out of his bag again, one of the great mysteries of the wizarding world, this lack of rainy day entertainment. You'd think that there would be a few more indoor activities than chess and gobstones. Or producing clockwork toys out of bloody pinecones. Harry sighed audibly, opening his textbook at the relevant page. He was good at duelling -surely this should be easier? He really was no great shakes at Transfiguration, he mused dully, falling back into his gloomy state, prodding the pinecone more forcefully. It bounced twice and then fell back onto the table, inanimate. He frowned at it sourly.

_Don't look up. _

Harry blinked and did a double take. Words had just appeared in the margin of his textbook. He resisted the urge to glance round.

_There are people sitting on the other side of the table –my 'watcher'. Where's yours?_

The writing disappeared. Harry started at the place it had been written a few seconds before.

_Where are you?_ He wrote.

_On the other side of the bookcases. I saw you sit down. You're doing that clockwork toy task completely wrong._

Harry pursed his lips at the last sentence.

_How do I know it's you? I haven't seen you_, he wrote, sceptically.

_It's me. I get out on Halloween._

Harry sucked one side of his cheek. The flippant almost-invitation irked him. _I'm not your fuck-toy_, he replied, his writing bordering on scrawl as he almost threw the words onto the page. They disappeared and he waited for almost a minute before he received a reply, just when he had suspected that Malfoy would not bother to deign such a statement with a reply.

_And I am not yours_. The writing faded slowly, and Harry left the library feeling even more mixed-up than he had before.

888

Harry spent the next week between bouts of quiet fury, and even quieter despondency. Ron and Hermione gave up trying to get him to open up, which relieved and angered him on equal terms. Before they had been together, he would at least have the attentions of one of them at a time. It was childish, but considering he wasn't very close to anyone else, he was feeling a little abandoned. He exhaled petulantly and rested his forehead against the cool windowpane of the seventh-year boys' dormitory.

He wondered what Malfoy was up to right now. It was a pretty nice night, for October; maybe he was out on the Quidditch Pitch. Harry tucked his legs beneath him and shivered in the shallow draught filtering between the panes. He'd quite like to get on his own broom, but now that he had strict instructions to have his 'watcher' accompany him whenever he went into an 'open space', who scheduled in today, unfortunately, as Professor McGonagall, he didn't have a hope in hell of going outside today. Understanding as she could be, he doubted that McGonagall would take too kindly to him barging into her office at this time of the evening on a whim to mess about on a broomstick.

Harry launched himself off the windowsill and slipped into his bed, despite it being only a quarter to eight. A fortnight from now, he hoped to be slipping out of the club at this time, and slipping into another, very different bed. He turned onto his side, overcome with another bout of gloom. The paper transaction, however short, between himself and the other boy, had not been very encouraging. They were, in fact, terrible at interacting with each other on a non-physical level. Short of that highly surreal discussion about death, of which he was beginning to wonder whether it had ever really happened, he hadn't had that much occasion to converse with Malfoy.

The irony forced his desolate expression into a smirk, as he considered how long a real conversation between them might last. He was betting on not very long.

It wasn't that he didn't want to talk to Malfoy, he did, but short of Quidditch and their mutual impending death, he couldn't really think about having a proper discussion. Hello Malfoy, how was Potions? Oh you know, same-o… No, no Harry really couldn't see that occurring. It probably wouldn't be quite as difficult if he didn't, in some twisted way, miss all the arguing and fighting. Maybe they could have one good argument just for old time's sake? he thought to himself, as he slipped further into the r.e.m cycle, still musing groggily on his nemesis, or was it former nemesis? Who knew? Harry certainly didn't.

888

Harry resumed consciousness with a jolt, and sat up unsteadily. The bedroom was dark but not pitch black, the angle of the Gryffindor tower allowing beams of moonlight to filter through the arched windows, dipping the archaic four-posters in an eerie off grey. It was two weeks to the day since he had sat on that windowsill, moping, if truth were told. Today was Halloween. He wet his lips, and wondered what was going to happen as he searched for the source of his unnatural waking. A large bat was scrabbling at the window. Harry hated bats. He got back into bed and drew the curtains on it.

He lay still, listening to Ron's steady snoring, jealous of his untroubled sleep. But then, he reasoned, Ron could sleep through a hurricane if the opportunity ever arose. One of the other boys, Dean, he thought, mumbled incoherently and turned over. He reflected on how lucky he was to have them all. Even though Ron was his best friend, the other boys meant a lot to him too, and even more since he'd come out to them at the end of last year. Obviously there had been a little unease at first –it's not every day the bloke sleeping across from you admits he likes the slightly less fair sex, after all, but by and large they had got over it pretty quickly. He supposed it was partly because he wasn't effeminate, and he wasn't flirtatious. He was, pretty much, still the same Harry he'd always been. Actually he didn't like effeminacy in gay men –what was the point, when the entire object of the attraction was to get with a man, not a girl-man. He shuddered at the thought.

If push came to shove, he would say that Malfoy was the 'girl' of whatever they had going. But this was pretty unfair; there was nothing effeminate about Malfoy that Harry could tell, particularly judging by the painful broken ribs incident. …Which resulted in some very good sex, he reminded himself, smugly.

He frowned, wondering if they were still due to meet that evening, and what the hell they would say to each other. It was probably out of hurt pride, but he had been damned if he was going to make the first move when it came to patching things up with the other boy. Now that the day of their release had actually arrived, he realised that he'd probably shot himself in the foot a bit.

Just as Harry was about to drop back to sleep, the other boys started rousing and he was dragged out of bed by Ron, who was understandably anxious to get to the Halloween breakfast before all the sausages (or 'dead man's fingers', as they were always labelled on Halloween) had been swiped. Harry grumbled as he was badgered into dressing more quickly, but in a good-natured manner. They managed to arrive at the Great Hall just as the doors were opening. Ron shot inside. Harry sat on the bottom of the staircase to wait for Hermione, who had informed Ron that despite insistences, there was no way that she was going to come down without brushing her hair, or her teeth. One has to have some pride.

He leaned against the banister, lazily observing as the early birds from other houses trickled in from their respective corners of the castle. A group of Ravenclaws ambled past him, many of them with their noses glued to a book. A straggly haired girl broke away from them and plonked herself next to him. "Hey Harry, you're up early," she said dreamily, "did you find a itcheetle in your bed?"

"Hi Luna, no, no itcheetles today," Harry replied, still scanning the crowd. The Slytherins had started emerging, but so far they seemed to be over-eager first years.

"Oh, well that is good news, they nibble your knees, you know," she said wisely, getting up again with a vague expression on her face, "well I should go in, I suppose, don't want anybody putting salt in my juice…" off she went. Harry cast a slightly pitying look at her retreating back before a distinct flash of blond caught his attention. His breath halted momentarily as his eyes met Malfoy's. How had they managed to be in the same part of the corridor at the same time? They were supposed to be separated. Malfoy looked annoyingly good considering the time of the morning…Malfoy cast a meaningful glance at him before promptly acting as though he hadn't noticed Harry was there are all.

"…can go to the bloody loo on my own," Harry heard him say, "go and get me some food." He glanced up, surreptitiously watching the blond give Crabbe and Goyle their marching orders. At the mention of their breakfast, the two larger boys moved off. The next casual glance told him that Malfoy was no longer in the entrance hall. He got up, stretched, and headed for the gents.

"In broad daylight? Risky," he commented, closing the door. Malfoy was standing at the sink, looking at his hair in the mirror. He eyeballed Harry's reflection. "Look, I didn't mean what I wrote, I was in a pissy mood," said Harry brusquely, almost-apologising.

To his horror, Malfoy spat out a derisive laugh. He rested his hands on the sink in front of him. "What the fuck are we doing?" he asked, incredulously, giving Harry another piercing glance. He sounded slightly hysterical. He snorted to himself and adjusted his attention back to the sink. Harry swallowed, and approached him, not sure how to respond.

"I don't know what… do you want to stop doing this? I… we can stop if you want."

Malfoy spun round, "you bastard, Potter."

Harry blinked, then felt his temper flare up, "look, Malfoy, I don't…"

"Fuck, get in the cubicle," before Harry could respond, Malfoy have thrown him unceremoniously into the nearest stall.

"What the- mfft!" Malfoy slapped his hand (rather painfully) over Harry's mouth. 'Shut…up' he mouthed. There was the sound of footsteps, and then someone peeing at the urinals. They both froze. Harry examined Malfoy's face, his eyes visible between the hand still covering the lower half of his face, and his fringe. A knee sneaked across and touched Malfoy's. Harry smirked beneath the hand. He received a malevolent glare in response. Harry smirked more, trying a little harder to provoke a reaction with his knee. Malfoy wet his lips and turned his face away from him. Harry licked the palm. Malfoy shot back and narrowly escaped banging loudly into the wall, as Harry reached out to grab him. The both froze again. The tap was running. How long did it take to wash your hands? The door banged twice and was silent. They remained frozen for three seconds longer, waiting. Then –

"You really are a bastard, Potter. Fucking wasting my time…"

"Hey, I'm not wasting your time, what do you want me to say? This is the situation here. I don't like it but if you can think of something better, tell me now."

Malfoy's expression melted into that of defeat. "Three bloody weeks…" he muttered, dully, tracing the lines of Harry's robes unconsciously. Harry reached up and smoothed a crease out of his forehead. Malfoy half-smiled at him. "I'd better go before they start thinking I'm ill or something."

"Wait," Harry laid a staying hand between his neck and shoulder line. Malfoy half-turned back. "See you tonight?" he nodded. "Malfoy-" he pulled the blond back in harshly for a real kiss. They melted into it, and then Malfoy seemed to take the upper hand, kissing him hard, almost painfully. Perversely, Harry had never felt so wanted. Why this sort of encounter seemed to happen to him in toilets, however… They broke for breath. Harry breathed hard, almost shocked. Malfoy looked at him intensely, then kissed him again, a soft peck this time, before he was gone.

Harry stood for a moment and collected himself before exiting.

"Harry?"

He looked up: "Bloody hell, Hermione, how long does it take to brush your hair? I've talked to Luna, and been for a piss! Come on, let's go in before Ron polishes off my breakfast!"

888

"I'm here."

Harry turned round and saw Malfoy coming up the path behind him. It was almost two am, he'd planned on getting away from the club a lot earlier, but there was practically the entire seventh year out tonight for the fancy dress theme night, and many people had been wanting to socialise with him. He pulled off his fully face-covering helmet and grinned. He was dressed as a Roman Centurion, and looked pretty good, if he did say so. Malfoy was wearing long monkish robes and the mask of a grotesque, which was effective in obscuring his identity, but not exactly very sexy. He ripped off the mask and tossed it at Harry, who deftly caught it in his free hand, before he was attacked by Malfoy's mouth on his throat and then mouth, causing them to topple onto the spongy, dew-soaked grass.

"Very good costume," said the blond, presenting him with a little nip on his earlobe. He propped himself over Harry so that he could look down at his face. Harry grinned again.

"Come inside and I'll let you take it off me." Malfoy clambered off him and helped him up. "Argh I'm all wet," said Harry.

"Yeah, and you just delivered one of the worst lines ever, too."

"It wasn't a line, it was a promise!"

"And that was the worst."

"Oh bloody hell, I can't win," Harry grumbled as he fiddled with his wand trying to find the secret entrance so that he could let them into the shack. Secretly, however, he had noted to himself that things seemed to be going pretty well… and this talking thing, granted in the lead up to hopefully some lovely sex, but talking nonetheless, was going far better than expected. He eventually managed to force entry and they both crashed into the dusty hallway. They lay on the floor wheezing with laughter. "Are you pissed?" asked Harry, giddily, as Malfoy started attacking his neck again.

"Ha, yeah, aren't you?"

"God I'm smashed, hope I can get it up," Harry admitted, then wished he hadn't.

"Hmm, well let's check…" Malfoy seemed to be in an uncharacteristically good mood, slipping his hand up Harry's Centurion costume, which he has spent the evening crossly telling people wasn't a skirt, but now seemed to be thankfully quite a lot like one, and it had its advantages. He groaned, pulling Malfoy on top of him. "Wait, your bloody boxers are in the way. Christ, these are massive, where did you buy them?" the blond was muttering. Harry's boxer shorts went flying over his shoulder.

"Oh, fuck Malfoy!"

Malfoy smirked at him and kissed him again. "Really – kiss – good – kiss – costume…"

"God…" Harry breathed, wide eyes fixated on Malfoy's handsome, aristocratic features, just visible in the gloom. "God… SHIT!"

Malfoy grinned self-satisfied. Harry blinked at him. "Yeah, I'd say you're in working order. But will you still be able to have me after all that exertion? I wonder…"

Harry recovered his senses immediately. "I fucking will. Come on," he pulled Malfoy unceremoniously to his feet and led him promptly up the stairs.

888

The two boys laid side-by-side, forearms touching, slowly regulating their breathing.

"Fucking amazing," said Harry, breathlessly. Malfoy just nodded. Harry rolled over on top of him, and leaned his forehead onto the blonde's. His hair needed cutting; it flopped down like an irregular curtain, surrounding them. "You alright?" Malfoy nodded, smiling pensively. Of course Harry had been gentle, he was always gentle, but something had been completely different. Spectacular. He grinned and raised his mouth to capture the Gryffindor's.

The kiss also felt different, he realised, puzzled. He snaked a hand into Harry's hair, while the other explored the lightly tan back. Small squadgy areas rippled slightly in places, and he pressed them lightly. Harry drew back, laughing, "Hey, stop checking for fat, I know I need to get back on the Quidditch pitch."

"At least you can," said Malfoy, gloomily, removing his hands and replacing them behind his own head.

"Ah crap, I forgot," said Harry, remembering the day when the other boy had been dropped from the Quidditch team. The day he'd discovered that he'd taken Malfoy's virginity as well as his memory. He frowned, and then chose to ignore it; he didn't need that hanging over them tonight, not when there was so little time left. He planted a consolatory kiss on Malfoy's lips but at the distinct lack of response he knew the blond had begun to brood. He rubbed the other boy's collarbone soothingly, and then kissed it before moving down to lick a nipple. The pale torso arched up to meet him, and he grinned against the sporadically hairy skin. He felt fingers return to his hair, and kissed the nipple again. "Probably for the best," he murmured, "if I saw you on a broomstick again I think I'd lose my mind, not to mention the cup…" he had begun mapping a trail of small kisses down to the Slytherin's navel, and lower.

He felt Malfoy's breath hitch as the other boy realised that yes, he really was going to do that. He glanced up, meeting the boy's eyes. "You…. You don't have to do it," said Malfoy, breathlessly, though underneath sounding as though he might actually kill Harry if he stopped now. Harry held his gaze and administered a lick. Malfoy's eyes suddenly filled half his face as his mouth dropped open with a harsh pant of breath. Harry grinned. The hands that had been laced in his hair dropped to the sheets and gripped them tightly.

"Hyeh," said Malfoy, quietly. He wasn't a very vocal person; he wasn't even a very intimate person when push came to shove. He'd never had anyone go down on him before. It was weird, but a good weird. "Neugh!" Okay, a great weird. However, as he came, he couldn't help remarking to himself, that yet again, Potter had bested him in bed. As usual, he was inferior. He rolled over with his back to Harry.

"Hey, something up?" Harry, understandably, sounded completely puzzled. Hadn't he just given Malfoy, two pretty explosive orgasms? All he'd sought to do was repay him a little for the fantastic hand-job… "Hey? Look, I should have asked you first…"

"Are you sleeping with anyone else?"

What the hell?

"What?"

Malfoy turned round. He wasn't glaring at him, just closed. "Are you sleeping with anyone, as well as me?"

"No! Why would you say that -? Fuck, you are, aren't you?"

Malfoy cleared his throat. "Just once."

"Fuck!" Harry shot out of bed and strode over to the boarded window, suddenly really needing to get away. Suddenly he paused, his back to the other boy. He felt sick. "After I wrote that stupid comment," he suddenly realised.

"Yeah," Malfoy affirmed, quietly. He didn't tell Harry how terrible it had been, how crap he had felt, and how violently sick he'd been afterwards.

"Why… who was it," Harry nearly shouted. He hadn't anticipated just how strongly he might feel about the idea of Malfoy with someone else.

"None of your fucking business!"

"It DAMN WELL IS!" Harry roared.

"Fuck you! You're not exactly my fucking _boyfriend_, are you?" Malfoy shouted, the word 'boyfriend' mixing into a sneer.

"THEN WHAT AM I?"

"I DON'T KNOW!" Malfoy stopped short, and blinked. He hadn't meant to say that. What he'd meant to say was that Potter was just someone he happened to have sex with. But he wasn't sure how true that was.

"Fuck this," said Harry, relocating the centurion costume and tugging it over his hips. "Damn, no boxers," he muttered, "glasses…" he turned back to Malfoy. The blonde's eyes looked as though they might spill over any second. "I may not be your boyfriend," he said, softly, "but I'm not a whore either, Malfoy. If I'm sleeping with you, then it's all you. Tonight was the best night of my whole life. Up till now." He turned and made for the door, unsteadily. Better to walk out now before he got emotional in front of the Slytherin.

"He never had me!" Malfoy blurted. Harry paused in the doorway but didn't turn around. Malfoy swallowed. "You're the only one who's ever had that privilege," he said, hoarsely. Harry didn't move. He took this as a good sign. "I don't know why I told you."

"If you hadn't I would have hated you more if I'd found out later."

"Do you hate me now?"

"I don't know." Harry turned round and glanced at Malfoy before quickly looking away. Malfoy took the hint and covered himself up with the sheet, blushing. Harry sort of half looked at him. "He didn't…"

"No."

"But, then you…" he felt sick.

"No! We, um, didn't get that far. I couldn't do it," he admitted. Harry walked back over and sat on the edge of the bed. Malfoy leant forward and propped his elbows on his knees. "Look, tell me what this is."

"Do you want this whatever to carry on?"

"I think so, yeah. But three weeks? Three weeks. I don't think I can do that."

"What are you saying, do you regret starting this?" Harry was horrified to find his words emerging all strangled. He swallowed and tasted salt.

Malfoy shook his head vehemently, but he looked unhappy. "I shouldn't be with you, Potter," he whispered, trying not to cry, "Hell, I'm not even supposed to be talking to you…"

Harry snorted, "let alone fucking with me," he spat.

"You know I …I want to."

Harry nodded. "Then don't be with anyone else. I can't do that, Malfoy."

"This isn't enough."

"I know."

They sat in gloomy silence for a while. Harry sighed and tugged the heavy armour part of his costume off again and got back into the bed in his undershirt and glasses. After a few uneasy minutes, he felt Malfoy's hand on his stomach, and soon they were lying curled together. "We can't keep meeting here if we're going to do something about this."

Malfoy made a 'pfft' sound. "Thank God, this place is still a dump despite renovation attempts." Harry smiled. "Look, I am… umm…"

"Yeah, I know."

"What are we going to do?"

"Tread with caution, I guess," Harry said, frowning. He felt slightly uncomfortable that he was holding someone who had apparently only recently been in the same position with someone else. He tried to shake it off. "Look, there are ways to get around Hogwarts undetected, but it's not easy."

"You're wondering whether I'm worth the hassle," said Malfoy, shrewdly. Harry didn't reply. Malfoy rolled over and cradled one side of his face, forcing him to look at him. "I wish I hadn't done it," he affirmed, solemnly.

"Why did you?" said Harry, visibly hurt.

Malfoy wet his lips but he didn't look away. "I wanted to hurt you."

"You did."

* * *

**To be continued. **

**please review, **

**apologies for the eclectic posting, **

**much love, skinnyrita x**


	5. Chapter 5

In answer to your questions, the basis of the preliminary plot (this began as a one-shot) is that for their 7th year, as Harry and Malfoy have created so much mayhem and been so disruptive through their constant fighting, the teachers have decided to call it quits and just separate them completely for everyone's sake. They have different class times (no more Gryffindor and Slytherin lessons together for 7th years), and at certain times are allocated watchers, who are teachers who have available gaps in their timetable to monitor one of the boys for a while, allowing them to check their behaviour, and also offer security, as a sideline. This brings us to why they have been denied breaks outside the castle unless specified: as Voldemort's power grows and the war encircles the castle, Harry in particular is in danger wherever he is. For this reason he is instructed to stay disguised if and when he is allowed out. Malfoy is also restricted, though to a slightly lesser degree -the teachers recognise that both boys could become targets. This arrangement is the safest way for them to operate.

* * *

**Overcoming the Prospect of Adhering to Merely One Night Out On Good Behaviour…**

_Including but not limited to…the fifth night out…_

When the closely typed and finely printed text of a good book becomes so blurred and indistinct that the words are too incomprehensible to read any further, and the dull thudding ache which has been pulsing behind your eyes gets too potent to ignore, then it is time for you to close your fascinating book, and go to bed.

Hermione's right eye began to water. She blinked, and tried to concentrate a little harder, knowing that she was only four pages away from finishing this very interesting and extraordinary chapter detailing the history of Albus Dumbledore's ancestry, which she had happened upon as she was browsing "A Concise and Eloquent History of Britain's Wizarding Founding Families." Gripping stuff. The words swam out of focus again, and the right eye began to burn. She sighed, noting the page number and closing the book before carefully stowing it on the shelf in her bedside cabinet. It was time to admit defeat, and try to sleep.

She lay still for a while, arms at her sides, blinking her tired eyes and gazing at her bed's canopy, to which she had taped a few revision notes with a bit of spellotape. It was too dark to look at them now, but she liked to give them a quick once over in the morning light before it was time to start the day. It was no use; her eyes were too tired. She shut them and looked at the black underside of her eyelids. This was the time of night that she liked to reserve for a good bit of musing. Her busy brain would give her no relief until she absolutely exhausted it and was forced to succumb to sleep. The topic of Hermione's musings on this night, started, as usual, on her relationship with Ron.

Hermione didn't believe in love at first sight, the idea of it appalled all of her reasoning, and there had certainly been no worry of that between her and Ron. How she had hated him at first! Well no, hate was such a strong word, reserved for Voldemort, and occasionally Malfoy, but in any case, there had been animosity between her and Ron at first, and still was on occasion, though to a far lesser extent, of course. However, she did believe in first loves, and that some first loves can last forever. Ronald Weasley was most definitely Hermione's first love, and that was something she treasured, and kept close to her heart. Even if they did get on each other's nerves sometimes, she realised that she had reached the point where she completely believed that Ron really loved her, and that she probably loved him as well.

She cast her mind, uncomfortably, back to the night they had discovered Harry and Malfoy's secret tryst. The memory made her stomach churn. Hermione had been in a relationship with Ron for months and wondered when she would be ready to make the certain physical commitment to him that Harry had clearly thrown away out of hand to Malfoy. She re-asserted to herself that this was not a race; that she didn't need to go any further with Ron than she was willing, until she was completely ready. She knew all this; she was a girl who stuck to her beliefs after all. The thought of being touched so intimately was a little frightening. She couldn't imagine how mush worse she would feel if she threw that moment away on someone who wasn't Ron; someone she didn't love. There was no way Harry could be in love with Malfoy. From the few minutes she had witnessed –should never have witnessed, she reminded herself – there was nothing really but a fleeting physical attraction, and a lonely sense of 'need' to account for Harry being so intimate with Malfoy.

For the fiftieth time, her mind relayed the aftermath of that discovery; kneeling in a puddle of silvery robe on the floor, cradling Ron, silent tears mingling with his racking sobs. She didn't think she'd seen him cry before. He was so much taller, larger, a bigger presence than her, all topped off with flaming torchlight hair. He was the strong one. But for a good twenty minutes at least, he was destroyed. She understood completely.

888

Harry strolled down the corridor, a little further ahead than Ron and Hermione, more caught up in his own thoughts than really paying that much attention to what was going on around him. It had been just over a week since he had seen Malfoy and he was still out of many ideas on how they could get around their contact problem. He didn't want to see the other boy _too_ often, but not as infrequently as before, that was for certain. Every plan he came up with ended in some sort of culmination at the room of requirement or the shack, but it was the mechanics of the whole thing that were full of kinks. It was a lot more difficult to get around the castle undetected at night now, what with all of their combined watchers and the odd groups of aurors who came to do sporadic sweeps of the castle every so often. A lot of his plans could potentially result in some free time, but every one of them also came with an additional list of things that could go seriously wrong.

Harry collided forcibly with someone coming in the opposite direction, promptly dropping all his books onto his assailant's feet. He disentangled himself, blinked, and stepped back to see who it was. Well, naturally.

"Watch where you're bloody going, Potter," Malfoy hissed, shrugging his robe back into place, "or do you always feel the need to simply bludgeon people out of your way?"

Harry blinked. Malfoy had managed his insult so smoothly that he wasn't entirely sure whether it was real or not. "I think it's rather your scrawny arse in my way, Malfoy," he spat, almost annoyed, "what the hell are you crossing my path for?"

"I have charms, thank you for your enquiry, now get the hell out of my way," said Malfoy, still calm, but with an edge of malice. Harry glanced down; the point of the index knuckle on Malfoy's left hand had just touched his right hand. On the back of the hand, was written the word 'duel'.

Harry's eyes snapped back to Malfoy's. "Fucking make me," he snarled, whipping out his wand and brandishing it in front of Malfoy's face. Malfoy already had his own drawn.

"Harry, NO!" Hermione had arrived on the scene, dragging Ron along behind her.

"Stay out of this Hermione!" Harry shouted, his eyes never leaving the blonde's. Malfoy chuckled.

"How cute," he said, sweetly, tossing his bag over his shoulder. Crabbe caught it. "Now everybody move unless you want to be dismembered."

The duel moved into cursing, though they were moving slower than they had when they had practiced duelling together in the shack. Harry only got Malfoy once, and the curse he threw was not that potent –it was soon shaken off. Harry's wand flew out of his hand; Malfoy had disarmed him. He charged the other boy, sending them both over in a flurry of fists. He saw Malfoy let go of his own wand as if he had dropped it. He could hear Hermione's voice yelling at them to stop before they got into serious trouble, but he didn't stop; Malfoy seemed to have some sort of plan, and he was going to find out what.

Somewhere, Harry registered Malfoy's fist connect with his cheekbone as they struggled on the floor of the corridor. Shock was his first reaction –yes, they were duelling, but was that really necessary?

"M-Malfoy?" Harry looked at the new person on the scene and surveyed him upside down. Someone Slytherin, someone whose name he couldn't remember… He froze, gaze flicking back to Malfoy, and knew instantly that whoever the hell that other boy was, he was the one Malfoy had _almost_ slept with…Harry's fist connected with Malfoy's kidneys, then his face. It took him a good ten seconds of hate to realise that Malfoy was not defending himself.

"Mister Malfoy! Mister Potter! Get off each other this instant!" Professor McGonagall had arrived, and Harry could tell immediately that she was furious. "_Never_, in all my years at Hogwarts have I ever encountered such a blatant disregard for the rules set down _implicitly_ to protect you both, how DARE YOU?" she actually shouted the last part, and a tiny fleck of spit landed on Harry's shoe. They both hung their heads. The crowd around them began to dissipate. Harry swallowed, trying to calm down. How dare Malfoy get them into this mess? How dare he nearly sleep with someone else? How dare he? He breathed angrily. Next to him he felt the other boy shift guiltily. "You will both serve detention with Professor Snape tonight, and all excursions outside this castle are revoked for both of you until I am satisfied that you have learnt to control yourselves…" McGonagall was saying. Control ourselves? thought Harry, bitterly, Yeah because that works so well. We can't stop fighting, we can't stop _shagging_; God I wish I'd never met him sometimes!

888

Harry was in a snappish mood all day, and felt uncomfortably sad. Whatever weird plan Malfoy had drawn him into, he now wasn't sure that he even wanted to know. He sensed Ron and Hermione sneaking worried glances at him throughout the rest of the day, and this only served to infuriate him more. Stop looking at me, he willed silently, pretending to concentrate even harder on his work.

Harry stood outside Professor Snape's office for a moment, and took a deep breath. His stomach gave a quiet gurgle of discontent; he had hardly felt in the mood to eat much at dinner, the mere smell of the food was enough to turn his stomach after an afternoon of misery. He knocked and entered the Potions lab. Snape was at his desk grading papers impassively. He ignored Harry's presence for a good five minutes until the door opened again. Harry glanced sideways at Malfoy as he entered the room. The blond looked expectant but not entirely happy. For a moment Harry thought that the Slytherin was going to say something to him, but then it seemed that he thought the better of it.

"Malfoy, so kind of you to join us, and only five minutes late," said Snape quietly. Malfoy blushed.

"Sorry, Sir."

"I hardly need to impress of either of you how thrilled I am with the prospect of entertaining you both for the evening," Snape continued dryly, "however since you cannot keep your hands off each other I think we shall have Mister Potter on the front bench, Malfoy you will sit at the back. No talking, and get on with your homework until I tell you otherwise."

"Yes, Sir."

"Yes Sir…" Harry sat down and pulled his Transfiguration notes and the pinecone (that bloody pinecone) out of his bag and fumbled around for his quill. It occurred to him that if Snape had known just how much the two boys couldn't keep their hands to themselves, he might have chosen some very different words to chastise them with.

_Testing_.

Harry blinked and looked at his parchment again. Malfoy was passing him notes. The text faded. After a minute, the word appeared again, though this time a little more forcefully:

_TESTING_.

Harry wet his lips and glanced up at Snape. He was frowning and tapping his cheek with the feather end of his quill while he read someone's essay.

_You know if you wanted to talk to me there are easier ways than landing us in detention_, he wrote back, irritated.

_It's been over a week. _

_I know that. _

_Well?_

_You are the limit, Malfoy. _

_Thank you. _

Harry pursed his lips and re-applied himself to his textbook and the pinecone.

_Come on Potter, don't do this. I wanted to see you, I saw my opportunity and I took it. _

Harry ignored him and tapped the pinecone with his wand. A clockwork toy key appeared on one side of it. Progress had been made.

_I thought we were over the other thing. _

_The other thing was you even considering having it off with someone else!_ Harry scribbled, pissed off. His face felt hot.

_I told you it was just you, and I meant it. Don't make me go through this again. Meet me. _

Harry took a breath and watched the request fade. He wanted to meet with Malfoy, but he knew that he couldn't keep doing this. The anger inside him still wasn't dying. He was too close to Malfoy to ignore him now, but too far removed still to be able to sort out his own feelings. If there was a way to give both of them a clean break, to get truly close, to become real lovers… he would take it. But the thought was a very disturbing one.

_You know you'd kill for the chance to be inside me again. _

Harry choked and turned round. Malfoy smirked at him, but his eyes looked vulnerable. "Eyes on your own work, Potter," said Snape, without looking up.

_It's true. You know you hit me pretty hard this morning. _

Harry felt a small pang of regret. _Did I hurt you?_

_Nothing unfixable, it doesn't matter. Answer my question. _

_I have been thinking of where we could meet, and when. Our timing is wonderful. Not._

888

Hermione walked back from the library slowly, trying not to drop any of the books she was carrying, whilst at the same time stopping Harry's invisibility cloak from slipping off. She wondered whether Harry had finished his detention yet, and took a detour to the dungeons. It being now past midnight (and high past library closing time) she assumed that if he hadn't already returned to the common room, he certainly would be soon. Maybe they could walk together. Now that she was with Ron, she got the opportunity to see Harry alone a good deal less.

She was in luck: the door to the Potions lab opened as she approached and Harry emerged from behind it. However, before she could reveal herself, Malfoy, the little toad, also appeared, closing the door behind him. They walked a little way down the corridor together before stopping. Hermione could see Malfoy's face illuminated in the lamplights and the reflections from his hair. He looked vulnerable to her. She felt an indefinable emotion rise in her chest; she had never seen him look like that before.

"God, did I do that?" Malfoy turned Harry's face gently, so that the light caught the bruise marring one cheek. Harry didn't reply. "Why didn't you get it healed?"

"No time," Hermione heard Harry reply, brusquely, "It doesn't hurt now."

"If you want… I can do it." Harry nodded. Malfoy brushed his thumb gently over the bruised area, as if erasing it. Hermione's eyes widened. Despite herself, she made a mental note to learn that spell. Harry expelled a soft gasp as the flicker of magic pulsed into him and out again, shutting his eyes briefly. Malfoy took the opportunity to plant a soft kiss, almost lovingly, on the formerly ruined cheekbone. Hermione froze. Yes, she had seen Malfoy kiss Harry once before, but this was a completely different situation. Maybe she didn't know her best friend as well as she thought. Harry opened his eyes and turned his head back to Malfoy, flicking his gaze up the length of the seemingly deserted corridor before allowing the blond to close the small gap between them with a soft kiss that deepened briefly without becoming forceful. Hermione averted her gaze, feeling lost.

When she looked back, Harry still had his hands in Malfoy's hair but their foreheads rested against each other rather than their lips.

"What are we going to do?" she heard Malfoy say.

"Saturday is a Hogsmeade weekend…"

"We'll definitely not be allowed out now."

"Meet me on Friday night and we can spend the whole night and morning together."

"How?" Malfoy asked, but he sounded hopeful. "Please tell me this idea doesn't involve the Shrieking Shack."

Harry grinned and released a good-natured chuckle. Hermione felt ill, and then guilty. "Room of Requirement."

"Where's that?"

"Meet me and you'll see. There are ways of staying in the castle and never being found. Technically, we're not even breaking the rules…" said Harry, winningly. Malfoy grinned back at him. Hermione thought he looked rather handsome when he wasn't sneering. Clearly, Harry thought so as well, because he continued, "meet me at one outside your common room on Friday night."

"Alright," said Malfoy, immediately. Harry sort of smirk-smiled at him. Hermione blinked. She'd never seen that expression on her friend's face before. He turned to leave. Malfoy caught him on the arm. "Hey-" Harry planted another, oddly possessive kiss on the other boy's half open mouth.

"Friday," he said, pulling away almost instantly. Malfoy watched him walk away from him with an apprehensive look on his face. He looked curiously unsure of himself. Hermione waited until he had walked right round the corner in the other direction, before she cautiously bent her own way back to the Gryffindor common room. By the time she arrived there the place was empty. She sat in the dark for a long time, staring blankly into the dying fire.

888

Harry and Malfoy entered the Room of Requirement quietly, before pulling off the invisibility cloak that had just about been able to cover them. The room had been produced quickly and was by default very simple. A basic double bed took up one side of the room, equipped with inappropriately white bedding; there was a low couch with a coffee table overlooking a large bay window, which had it not been dark out, would have afforded them a view over the quidditch pitch and castle grounds. A door to the left stood half open to reveal that there were bathroom facilities available. That was all. It reminded Harry of a Travel Inn, or similar.

Malfoy had crossed the room and was looking out of the bay window, but there was little to be seen bar his own reflection. Harry made sure the door had been shut properly and then cast a locking charm on it just in case. The blond had still made no move towards him so he busied himself by folding the invisibility cloak and his outer robe over the end of the couch. He had been surprised to meet Malfoy wearing a buttoned shirt and dark trousers, expecting Slytherin robes… he glanced down at his own threadbare handed down jeans and simple red t-shirt, berating himself for not having made more of an effort with his appearance for the other boy. If he was really going to carry on with Malfoy, he should at least start dressing the part.

Harry pulled himself out of his thoughts as Malfoy turned around, flipped open the top button on his trousers, and stalked towards him. Harry appraised him as he approached. Malfoy excited and scared him; attracted and appalled; titillated and terrified. But he couldn't let any of this show on his face right now, because the other boy had reached him and was currently pulling the horrible red t-shirt over his head.

Harry's view cleared as the offending garment flew onto the floor and he was able to view Malfoy's utterly lustful expression as he said, "God, you –you've been back on the quidditch pitch," eyes locked on Harry's pectorals.

Despite himself, Harry grinned impishly. "Well, Ravenclaw match coming up," he said. Malfoy wet his lips and breathed hotly for a second, allowing Harry to train in on those lips briefly before they attached to his neck, and then his collarbone. Malfoy's hands traced down his pecs, over his nipples before one was replaced by his mouth, teeth, toying, teasing. Harry shut his eyes and leaned his head back on the door jam as the teeth nipped their way over his stomach muscles. He panted in surprise as the teeth left his skin. He opened his eyes, and looked down. Malfoy was kneeling now. He glanced up at Harry before hastily averting his eyes back to the fly of Harry's jeans.

In that moment, Harry felt the bottom drop out of his stomach. What was he _doing_?

Malfoy's quivering hands came out and in a swift movement flipped the top button. Harry zipped backward and hit the door, hard. "Wait." He pulled the blond to his feet, almost roughly. "Don't do it," he said, urgently. Malfoy stared at him, appalled.

"You don't want-"

Harry kissed him, softly. Briefly. "You don't want it."

Malfoy kissed him. It meant something. Harry wasn't sure what it meant, but it definitely, definitely meant something. He pulled back slightly, kissing the Slytherin lightly once more before scrutinising his face, a hand still latched in the white-blond hair, the other cupping his back. He had never noticed how masculine the slight curve of the bridge of Malfoy's nose was, how unsure his eyes were, how long the lashes, how sculpted his jawline. Completely male, masculine, manly, perfect and all for him. He wet his lips impulsively and kissed him again. Kissed was the wrong word. He plundered his mouth. Malfoy moaned hard as his back hit the wall. It broke the incredible kiss.

Harry frowned. Malfoy's eyes were still unsure. Vulnerable. Downright scared of him. Harry went out on a limb, and pulled him closer, placing a soft kiss, a non-sexual kiss, on his throat, then looked into his eyes another time. Malfoy nodded. He looked relieved, though not completely settled. They simultaneously looked at the bed.

"This isn't just sex. Is it?"

Was it a question, or a statement? Or a questioning statement?

Harry took a moment to consider his reply. This was Malfoy. With Malfoy, he realised, he had never done things by halves. "I would never just shag you," he said, soberly. "Not even the first time." Malfoy stared at him. "Come on," Harry led him to the bed.

He could tell that for some reason, Malfoy did not want to do this. Perhaps he didn't either. "I'm not very intimate," said the Slytherin. Harry sat up. Malfoy was looking at the ceiling, and Harry certainly didn't blame him. This was an emotional admission on a colossal scale. Potentially embarrassing.

"I'd never make you do anything, you know." Harry looked down on him. He really was perfection in a pair of partially undone trousers. He glanced down and smiled to himself. Somewhere along the line, Malfoy had kicked his shoes off. But he still had his socks on. He lay back down, toeing his own trainers off as he did so, and making sure that their upper arms touched, but not in too much of an overtly sexual way, if such a thing was possible for two people who were extraordinarily attracted to each other and had in fact already had sex four times.

"So the Ravenclaw game is responsible for this re-buffing-up, then?"

"Well it will be my last game at Hogwarts. The last ever quidditch final. I should at least try to make a bit of an effort for it."

"Hmm." Malfoy turned onto his side and moved closer into him. Harry released a blissful sigh and leaned into the caress. Turning his head to the side he could look right into the Slytherin's eyes. He registered relaxation. It was good. Malfoy kissed his bottom lip gently before nestling in the crook of his arm. They lay companionably for a while, breathing in tandem. "When did you come out?"

"Didn't you know I was gay before that night in the club?"

"Everybody knows, Potter. I'm surprised the Daily Prophet didn't run a special on it."

"Hmm. I don't know actually. Just before Christmas last year, maybe?"

"Ever fancy girls?"

"I quite liked Cho Chang."

"Chang?"

"She was the seeker for Ravenclaw, she finished a year ahead of us."

"Oh right, that Chang. Good choice, good quidditch player actually."

Harry laughed lightly. "Yeah, she was rather. I think I preferred her on the pitch rather than off it though. She made me take her to Madame Puddifoot's on Valentine's Day in fifth year. It was hell. I was already wondering about whether I might be gay or not. The experience probably helped to cement it."

Malfoy laughed himself, the vibrations reverberating pleasantly over Harry's chest. "I've been there once, on this bizarre double date thing with Pansy, Goyle, and Millicent Bulstrode. Possibly the most unpleasant afternoon of my life."

"I can well imagine …so what about you and Parkinson?"

"I don't know, I went on a few 'dates' with her I suppose if you could even call them that. More like eating with some girl who flirted a lot, and then footing the bill."

"Does she know you're gay?"

"I don't know. Crabbe and Goyle do, Zambini too –thought it best to tell them from the off as we're all sharing a dorm. Better they find out now than later down the line."

"Yeah same. Although as you said, most people seem to know about me anyway."

"Hmm. I'm falling asleep here, thought you should know just in case I suddenly nod off."

"Go to sleep, I don't mind."

Malfoy sat up and started divesting himself of his trousers and socks. Harry watched him lazily, eyes half closed with sleep already. Malfoy smirked down at him before reaching to peel off his socks, and then give him a little jolt to encourage him to raise his hips momentarily as the jeans followed. "Come on let's get into this bed before we both drop off," he said. Harry complied drowsily. The short conversation had been surprisingly exhausting. "Fuck, your feet are freezing already!"

"Mmm? Warm them up for me," Harry mumbled. They spooned together in a messy bundle that needed a haircut. And slept.

888

Malfoy woke up and stretched before rolling over practically onto Harry, who smiled and shifted his gaze from the ceiling and focused them in on the blond. "You're still here," said Malfoy, dumbly. Harry's eyes sparkled.

"I am."

"Are we being missed, do you think?"

Harry considered, the bridge of his nose wrinkled. "I doubt it. Everyone will be too busy getting ready to go to Hogsmeade right now. They probably think we're off sulking somewhere."

"Good. Have sex with me then."

Harry rolled over on top of him and pinned his hands gently above his head, fingers entwined. "Never," he said, and kissed him sensuously. Malfoy hummed gently into the kiss. Harry's hands left his and stroked down his cheek, across his jawline, over his neck, along his collarbone, thumb brushing over a nipple. Malfoy moaned lightly, hands dropping to push Harry's boxer shorts out of the way, who gasped quietly, breaking the kiss momentarily. He brushed the side of his nose against the blonde's, and murmured, "I can spend the night with you without having to have you, you know," an oxymoronic statement as his hands were at present divesting said Slytherin of his own boxers.

"You already did."

Malfoy arched up at his touch, finding his mouth again, and they melted into a lazy kiss, slow and undemanding as Harry went about preparing him gently. Malfoy gasped sharply, turning his head to the side, eyes shut and mouth open. Harry laid kisses along the curve of his neck, finding his right hand and interlocking their fingers again. "Are you alright?" he whispered.

"G-god," Malfoy turned his head back to look at him. He wrapped first one leg, and then the other, around Harry's back, pulling him full flush against him. He had never done that before. Their eyes met, and then their lips.

Harry was moving, gauging his actions by the other boy's breathless gasps and the pressure of the legs embracing him. "So this is what it feels like, making love," he thought. His own release took him by surprise, as did Malfoy's. Almost simultaneous. The legs enveloping him loosened, but one remained to wrap him, gently. He looked down at Malfoy. His eyes had fluttered lightly closed while he attempted to get a hold on his breathing. Harry gently untwined their fingers as he laid his forehead in the crook of the Slytherin's neck, bringing it up to smooth the sweat-damp hair from the other's head. He couldn't see his face from this position. If he had he would have witnessed the relaxed smile arching across Malfoy's handsome face.

888

"How are we going to do this, then?" Malfoy stood patiently as he let Harry do up the buttons on his shirt for him. Harry abandoned the top two and reached up to kiss him lightly.

"I'm going to be training all week, the Ravenclaw match is this Saturday coming. You could meet me afterwards?"

"You know that wouldn't happen."

"Yeah, I guess not. Well, maybe if we lose. Are you going to support Gryffindor, then?"

Malfoy laughed, "no chance!"

Harry smiled. "Well I'll try to butter up McGonagall to try and make up for that detention, see if I'll be allowed out this side of Christmas. I'll let you know how it goes?"

Malfoy groaned in frustration, looking down at their linked fingers. "This is hell."

"And for me too, you know that?"

"Yeah. I know." They kissed again, aware now of how little time they had left this morning, and how much more careful they would have to be leaving the Room of Requirement.

Half an hour later, however, when Harry arrived at the Gryffindor common room, he found it largely empty. He threw himself into a corner with his homework to await Ron and Hermione's return, and when they came in with half of Honeydukes bagged up for him, apart from a "sleep in, mate?" from Ron, neither seemed particularly concerned. If anything, the huge dopey grin he couldn't seem to get off his face had momentarily shocked them into an intrigued silence.

888

_Good game, Seeker. Seek me out in the Gent's on the 4__th__ floor after lunch. _

Harry tried not to grin too much as the school owl that had just delivered the note alongside his Monday Daily Prophet took off again. Gryffindor had flattened Ravenclaw the previous Saturday and Harry was still on a high. The quidditch cup was currently sitting in pride of place on the Gryffindor common room mantelpiece.

"We really have to stop meeting in toilets, it's becoming a second home," he remarked, grinning as he let himself into the Gents later that day. Malfoy turned round from the mirror and cast a locking charm on the door before moving in to kiss him.

"Good match, Potter."

"Yeah?"

"Impressive wronski feint."

"Thought I was going to crash into the ground for a sec though. Luckily my broom seems to have a mind of its own sometimes."

They laughed lightly. Malfoy appraised him, smiling, arms encircling him. "Well this can't be a long meeting but I thought I should let you know that Snape told me my next night out for good behaviour is on Friday week, if I don't do anything to balls it up."

"I haven't had a chance to speak to McGonagall."

"You just won the quidditch cup, I doubt it will be a problem."

"Hmm, what did you have in mind?"

"Actually, I was wondering if you'd have an early dinner with me." Harry raised his eyebrows, surprised. Malfoy flushed.

"Are you asking me on a date, Mr Malfoy?"

"I'm asking you to have a private meal with me in one of the reserved rooms at the Three Broomsticks, Friday week, say six p.m.? Got to be back in the common room to report to Snape by 10 latest. Worst luck."

Harry grinned, "Sounds like a date to me."

"Continue to take the piss and I can relocate to Madame Puddifoot's."

"I'd love to come to dinner with you. I'll owl you when I've had a chance to talk to McGonagall?"

"Okay."

"Okay," Harry echoed. His heart felt like it was dancing somewhere in the region of this throat as he surrendered to another kiss.

"Got to go," Malfoy pulled away regretfully, casting a wistful gaze over the Gryffindor. "I'm already more than fifteen minutes late for arithmancy. I'll see you Friday week."

With one more kiss, he was gone.

Harry turned to the mirror and stared at his own reflection for a minute. He looked different. He looked… happy. He stood grinning at himself for a good five minutes before remembering that he was the latest he'd ever been for Care of Magical Creatures.

888

"Shh, Ronald! Stop moving I'm going to fall out of the cupboard!"

Ron and Hermione were wedged in the broom closet on the near side of the entrance hall, the door open the merest crack. "Hermione, this has to be one of the worst ideas, of not _the_ worst idea you've ever had. If Harry's gone to meet Malfoy then it's none of our business," Ron was saying, grumpily. Hanging out in broom cupboards wasn't the ideal Friday evening with Hermione he had envisaged.

Harry's more-or-less-monthly night out on good behaviour had been granted for that evening, but instead of spending it with them, he had awkwardly informed them that he was going on a date, but would be back by ten at the latest.

Even though he had a pretty shrewd idea of who Harry was going to be spending the evening eating with, Ron had gone through the "So, who's the lucky guy?" motions.

Harry had merely replied that he didn't want to jinx anything, and that he was only going to have dinner, so they could still spend the evening together when he got back. He seemed to be in a very good mood all week. If he was seeing Malfoy, Ron reasoned to himself, then Ron didn't care. Harry in a good mood had always been a rare enough occurrence. Good Mood Harry could stay.

The front doors opened. Hermione and Ron shut their mouths quickly.

Harry entered and looked around carefully before allowing Malfoy to follow him in. Hermione felt Ron go tense. This had been a terrible idea. They needed to concentrate on their own lives.

Malfoy glanced about hastily before catching Harry on the arm. "I had a really great night," he said, pulling Harry into him for a kiss. When they pulled away, Harry had his back to them, but the duo in the cupboard could see that Malfoy was smiling. It was very strange. Ron had never seen Malfoy smile, not really, really smile. But he was now.

"Me too," Harry was saying, "see you Friday?"

"If not I'll let you know. Better go, Snape's expecting me to sign back in with him in ten minutes. Goodnight, Potter." They kissed again. But it wasn't just 'a kiss', not to an outsider. It was something else. Ron shut his eyes. So it was serious. There wasn't just sex. There was eating food together involved, there was kissing, and smiling. There was standing with fingers entwined. Malfoy was leaving. But he did look back and grin before disappearing down in the direction of the dungeons.

Harry was smiling himself, and sort of biting his lip in a contemplative manner. He soon passed the cupboard where his friends were hiding.

"He looks happy."

"Yes, Hermione, he does. Can we go now?"

"Malfoy… looked pretty happy, didn't he?"

Ron chuckled and opened the door. "Yeah, pretty much. Come on, let's get out of here. We'll go and get Harry, and hang out, ok?"

"Okay," Hermione put her hand in his.

**To be continued.**

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**thoughts? thank you for being patient with the updates, or lack of! skinnyrita xxx**


	6. Chapter 6

_hi everyone sorry about the large pause, I have no internet and am tapping someone's wireless at uni to send this haha naughty me, but I have been working on this!_

_disclaimer: i do not own any part of or procure profits from the harry potter series, and borrow the characters merely for enjoyment's sake._

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**The Sixth Night Out on Good Behaviour: Last One Before Christmas.**

**Friends and Lovers.**

_A window of contentment brought to you by Skinnyrita._

"I always assumed you stayed with Weasley at Christmas."

Harry turned over to face Malfoy, encasing himself back into the circle of arm that had begun to lift. The arm that wasn't trapped under him snaked out to secure the duvet more securely over them, blocking out the draughts that seemed inescapable within the castle.

The previous Friday had marked a small turning stage for Harry. Sitting down and eating a meal, privately, managing to make conversation and actually have a good time, had been good for him. He remembered how much he had disliked Malfoy in the past, but he was now in the calm mental state that could allow him to move past it, and even move past his original lusts. He was not lusty now. In fact, lust had almost become a dirty word in the Harry Potter Internal Vocabulary Bank. Lust was not the same as attraction. Sex might have started whatever was brewing, but sex wouldn't end it. What made Malfoy so attractive to him was becoming something so much more than that. Or perhaps it always had been. He studied the nose of the boy tangled into him for a moment, regaining the thread of the conversation.

"Sometimes I do. Dumbledore asked me to stay here this year."

"Because of… You-Know-Who?" Malfoy wasn't looking at him. He seemed to be more interested in inspecting Harry's collarbones.

"Partly. Maybe he just wants to keep an eye on me. I don't mind, I do it all the time." Malfoy 'hmm'ed at him, running fingertips over his exposed bicep. "Talk about something else. I don't want Voldemort in bed with me," said Harry. Malfoy's eyes darted sharply to meet his at the mention of the Dark Lord's name.

"Have you thought about what you want to do after Hogwarts?" he asked, abruptly.

Harry laughed. "Random."

Malfoy smiled slightly, shifting forwards to bring their chests together as they breathed in tandem. It was less corny than Harry had imagined such a gesture might be between them. The Room of Requirement had provided the same white bedding, the same hotel-suite style surroundings. He already knew that they could not risk meeting there again. As Christmas drew nearer, more couples would be trying their luck with the room, a precursor to the few weeks' separation ahead. An impulse took him, and he pressed his lips softly into the blonde's. They kissed gently for a moment, before he found himself flat on his back with the Slytherin on top of him. He grinned, open mouthed, regaining his breath as the other boy looked down on him with his own unique half-smiling expression.

"I had a careers chat with Snape at the beginning of fifth year and he recommended I should try for an internship somewhere to pursue Arithmancy," said Malfoy, conversationally. Harry blinked at him. Malfoy's thumb was caressing the space above one of his hipbones, in a rotating fashion. He had expected the blond to say something about sex, considering they'd been in the room, and more importantly in the bed, for nearly four hours now, and had done nothing about it but talk. Malfoy raised an eyebrow at him.

"I don't know," he said, warily, "McGonagall had me pitched as an Auror, I think it sounds like a good job. Defence is my best ah-ah – subject," he continued, flinching as Malfoy's hand stroked over his sensitive sides, and continued up to trace the slight bump of his lower ribs. He wasn't looking at Harry's face at all, attention more focused on the torso underneath him.

"Hmm. I can't see you working for the Ministry, Potter. If I did Arithmancy, it wouldn't be for them. They're always trying to muck things up for you," he said, using his fingertips to trace round the shape of Harry's left pectorals, and then do it again.

"Ah… ah um, what else would I do then?" Harry shivered slightly. His breath hitched as Malfoy swept the pad of his thumb over a nipple, as if just to see what it would do.

"Hmm, I don't know, I guess I always assumed you would go for Quidditch while you're still fit for it. You could do defence and stuff any old time," said Malfoy, composedly, as if they were discussing the matter over a plate of cheese and crackers. "Hmm…" he bent his head and replaced the thumb with his mouth, relocating the hand to Harry's collarbone, seeking the ridge.

Harry groaned involuntarily, and shut his eyes lightly. "Quidditch would be fun… but the press would be all over me."

"They already are," said Malfoy, frankly, raising his head from his ministrations. He looked at the nipple objectively for a second, and then blew on it coolly. Harry panted harshly. "Open your eyes." Harry opened them immediately. Malfoy was using his older, colder voice. It didn't annoy or even intimidate him anymore. It made him want him. Malfoy gave him a lazy look for a moment, then leaned down and kissed him deeply, one hand cupping his carefully shaved jaw, and the other re-tracing the path backwards, down his torso, until he felt the index finger trail over the skin just shy of the waistband of his boxer shorts.

Harry tilted his head back, hands in Malfoy's hair and on his back, feeling his solidity, letting him deepen the kiss. He moaned into it, the strange fluttering sensations in his chest growing in intensity each time he reminded himself that it was Malfoy, his school-long obsession, doing these things to him. God, how he wanted him. And just when he thought his chest was going to burst, Malfoy broke the kiss. He looked down at him, panting quietly, the hand that was on his jaw moving down to caress his neck and collarbone again, which he seemed to have a slight affliction for.

"I want you," Harry said, tentatively.

Malfoy's eyes went soft, his half smile returning. "Not tonight," he said, quietly. Harry shut his mouth and stared at him, but not angrily. More, regarding him, trying to guess the Slytherin's thoughts. "I can't tonight," he affirmed. Then he took Harry's arms from around him, and placed them over his head gently so that his hands were touching the headboard. Harry swallowed. Malfoy smirked at him attractively, and pressed his lips to Harry's Adam's apple. "Patience," he said, softly, laying gentle kisses between his words, "because you can have me any way you want. But tonight I want _you_."

Harry breathed in for a moment, and then secured his grip on the headboard.

Malfoy kissed him.

Everywhere.

Anywhere he could reach. He gently bit and kissed his pectorals, nipples and stomach, despite Harry's sudden inner ego reminding himself that he hadn't worked out at all since the final quidditch match and had eaten a lot of heavy winter food instead. He circled his tongue around the outer lip of his navel. He divested him of his boxer shorts and nibbled the jutting hipbones, laved his tongue and wet lips into the hollow, as his silky golden hair swept a trail after them, coasting over his erection, eliciting an embarrassing shout of "oh _fuck_!"

Harry had never been very vocal in bed, more the heavy breathing type, but somewhere through Malfoy's ministrations his entire vocabulary had melted into combinations of "oh oh oh oh my god… urgghhhh fuck, oh my god, oh-ohhhh goddy god…mmmm…ahhhmmmm…fucking god…" in breathless whispers, and a good deal of heavy panting interspersed with the occasional gasp. His knuckles were white from gripping the head of the bed. Malfoy's lips were locked on one of his hipbones, biting gently. One hand crept around his hardness.

Harry thought he might cry.

Malfoy's nose nuzzled him gently. Harry shouted once, and was silent. His hands dropped from the headboard. "Oh god," he said.

Malfoy hovered over him. Smirked. "You've never come like that before," he said, smugly. Harry laughed breathlessly, focusing in on him again.

"You've never done that to me before," he pointed out. Malfoy's eyes twinkled at him. "You have come in your hair…" said Harry, sheepishly, raising a hand to rub it through the blond strands.

"You've certainly marked me," Malfoy murmured, twirling a bit of hair round so that he could inspect it, "tsk, messy." Their eyes met. Harry blushed. Despite having been naked (and spent) in front of the other boy before, he felt uncharacteristically vulnerable. Something in his chest gave a pleasant lurch. He trusted Malfoy. He trusted his naked, vulnerable body to him. It was insane of him to think such thoughts about a boy who up until a few months ago would have thought nothing of pitching him off the astronomy tower. He willed such unhelpful thoughts away: now was not the time for them.

"Don't – don't you want me to take care of th-that?" he stammered, pathetically.

Malfoy half-smiled again and shook his head. "Next time."

"Oh."

Malfoy leaned into him and licked his jaw. One quick swipe. "I could do with a shower though."

Harry sighed humorously, "thought you just had one." Malfoy chuckled against his lips. Kissed him.

888

His last night out before the Christmas holidays would be granted to Harry two nights before the majority of the students were due to leave. Less and less people seemed to want to stay at Hogwarts for the holiday as the years progressed and the threat of Voldemort's war loomed in as an ever more likely prospect. Harry perched idly on the end of his bed, watching Ron lob things haphazardly in the direction of his suitcase. It was all right for Ron, he mused, dully, he would see Hermione in the week after Christmas, and had approximately a hundred red-haired relations to keep him occupied until then. Harry and Seamus would be the only people staying in Gryffindor tower, and that was only for part of the holiday; Seamus' parents were holidaying abroad at the moment, but would be by on Christmas Eve to pick him up on their way home, so Harry would indeed only have the teachers to swap crackers with on the actual day of 'merriment' in question.

Ron held up a bundle of something he had just unearthed from under his bed, gave it a shake, looked at it, grimaced, and shoved it back where he'd found it. Harry snorted. Ron's dress robes. Ron glanced up and grinned at him cheerily. "I told mum they'd got lost in the wash," he said. He dropped a pile of socks into his trunk and came over to slouch next to his friend. "Ah come on Harry, cheer up, who knows maybe mum'll let me and Hermione come back early. It's only three and a half weeks mate."

"Yeah, _goodie_," said Harry sarcastically, "three weeks of here, wish I could spend my whole life stuck in school, oh no, wait…" he paused as if thinking, "oh, I already do! Well, _whoopdee_."

"Harry," Ron frowned, scratching the back of his neck, ears pink, "You've got Seamus with you, maybe you can play some quidditch or something?"

"I don't want to play quidditch," said Harry, irritably.

Ron blinked at him as if he'd just sworn in front of McGonagall. "Harry, I think you might have cracked," he said. Harry 'huh'-ed. "I heard quite a few Hufflepuffs are staying, and a couple of Ravenclaws. You could do some inter-house whatsit, you know, what Hermione's always going on about."

"What's going on with you and Hermione these days?" Harry asked, abruptly. It occurred to him that he had been so wrapped up in his own sordid affairs with Draco Malfoy, that he had neglected to pay that much attention to the relationship blossoming between his two friends.

"Oh, umm, well you know, she's great," said Ron, going pinker.

"Really?"

"Yeah – oh no, Harry! You know that's not what I meant."

Harry laughed, "Just kidding. So what did you get her for Christmas?"

"Ah well, a few things, actually I'll show them to you, you can tell me if they're any cop, hang on," he said eagerly, returning to the suitcase to rummage around in the bottom.

"How can I help?" asked Harry, nonplussed.

"Oh well, you know, gay and all… supposed to know more about this kind of thing…" muttered Ron as he unearthed a few parcels and laid them on his bed before scooping them all up and returning to where they were sitting.

"Ah yes, that stereotype," said Harry, wryly, "well don't get your hopes up Ron, I'm a little rusty on my effeminacy."

"Harry, I'll kill you if you imply ever again that I think you're effeminate. You know I don't, now budge over, some of them are fragile. Right, ok so first of all obviously I got her a book…"

"Obviously."

"Yes. So I got her 'Distinguished Witches from the Fourteenth Century to Present Day' because I think she could be one of them, and you know, there are awards and stuff you can get for things like muggle-wizard theories and stuff like that, and I bet Hermione would like to get something like that one day…"

"It's a great present, Ron, she'll love it," Harry interjected before his friend could waffle on too much about it.

"Phew, good, I think so too. Good. Okay. Next I got her these leather gloves lined with puffskein fur, because she always gets really cold hands…" Harry looked at the gloves. They really were very nice, a buttery soft yellow leather with covered buttons on each wrist. Ron must have been saving up for a very long time to buy them, he realised.

"Wow, they're really, really nice," he said quietly.

Ron cast a sceptical look at him for a moment, then said, "right, now the last two, and they're her main presents."

"There's four more presents here though."

"Oh, well I got her some honeydukes chocolate and a bag of fizzingwhizbees as well, because you know, they're her favourites, but they're just extras, you know these are the real gifts…" Harry stared at him as he carefully untied the ribbon securing one of the boxes. He'd never asked what Hermione's favourite sweets were. This serious Ron who loved his girlfriend was nearly a stranger to him. "Okay, so I got her this necklace, it's a bit corny though," Ron was saying. Harry stared at him. "Hello, Harry, look at the necklace." Harry looked at it. It was a lovely necklace, a pendant with a large stone set into its silver drop, the stone looking suspiciously like a-"

"Is that a sapphire?" Harry blurted, staring at it. Ron blushed.

"Yeah, um but shh, don't tell anyone but I didn't exactly pay for it. Bill got it for me, he found it when he was in Egypt, but it was in the bottom of his rucksack, he forgot about it and Gringotts never got hold of it. I don't think they even know it was supposed to exist. Anyway, we spent a week this summer getting it screened and tested for any magical residues, and it came back all cleared. Plus, you know, sapphire, it's her birthstone, at least I think so… anyway. He helped me put a couple of protection charms on it, you know, just in case."

"It'll look great on her."

"Everything looks great on her," the redhead said, happily, carefully stowing the pendant back in its box and retying the ribbon carefully, tongue between his teeth. "Alright, the last one is the really special one, so it's important you tell me if I've gone too over the top."

"Alright."

Ron pulled out a smaller box.

"Jesus Ron! Please tell me that's not a ring."

"Fucking hell Harry!" Ron gaped at him incredulously. "I'm seventeen! No it bloody hell isn't a ring." He stared at him for a minute, then muttered, "Fucking nutters you are," and opened the box. Inside was a charm bracelet. He offered it to Harry. "Okay lift it out, but be careful it's a bit fragile, and this one I did pay for."

Harry turned the bracelet carefully, looking at the charms. There were four: a book (for obvious reasons), a playing card with the queen of hearts etched onto it, a cat which looked suspiciously like Crookshanks, and a heart with a hinge on one side. Harry didn't need to open it to know that there would be a picture of Ron and Hermione inside, but he did, and looked down at their smiling faces quietly.

"Is it too much?" Ron asked, anxiously, after a minute of silence had passed.

Harry looked up and smiled at him.

"What?" said Ron, suspiciously. Harry leaned forward and gave him a kiss on the cheek. Ron blinked at him, red and pink.

"She's a lucky girl, they're perfect presents," he said honestly.

Ron went purple, then coughed, and said, "yeah, alright, well let's not get all gay on each other about it shall we." He fiddled with the boxes. Clapped Harry on the shoulder. Grinned impulsively.

888

Soft flakes of snow floated lazily towards the ground, kissing it for a few seconds before melting away. Pink-cheeked groups of girls with their school scarves wound up to their noses clumped from shop to shop together. Hermione turned her face away from the window and pulled herself back into the keen quidditch conversation between Ron, Harry, Ginny and Michael Corner (who were 'back on' again although Ron was only being civil about it because it was nearly Christmas).

The shops were about to close, and they had all come to the Three Broomsticks to have dinner together as it was the last time they would get to go out with Harry before the break. Not that she expected Harry to be ending the night with them. She wondered what excuse he was going to come up with, or whether he would allow any of them a glimpse at the truth. She had noticed Malfoy entering the Hog's Head with a group of snowy Slytherins as she gazed out at the street. What did he tell his friends when he was going to meet Harry? Or did they already know, and plotted something unsavoury. She hoped for Harry's sake that this was not the case.

"I'm sorry Ron, but much as I respect your undying devotion to the Cannons, Puddlemere are just the better team now that Wood's been officially signed," Ginny was saying. "Even you have to admit that Bates has been past his keeper prime for at least three years now."

"I hear what you're saying Gin, but listen. If the Cannons are so crap, then how did they smash the Wasps so thoroughly in the heats?"

"Wasps are crap," said Michael, derisively.

Ron shot him an unfriendly look. "Then how come they won the league last year? The Cannons are climbing up the ladder again, you watch them."

Hermione was about to attempt to steer the conversation in another direction –for all she knew about quidditch, they might as well have been conversing in an alien language – when she was saved by the arrival of their dinners. They all fell on their food (Hermione and Ginny exercising a little more finesse than the boys) and for a while the only sounds were of cutlery clinking and methodical chewing, juxtaposed by the occasional steely glance between Ron and Michael.

Harry leaned back next to Hermione against the window seat and slung an arm around her, comfortably full of roast lamb and gravy. She leaned her head into his shoulder while they watched the plates get cleaned away and dessert menus appear across the renewed quidditch conversation/argument between the others.

"I wish you were with us for Christmas, Harry."

Harry sighed, and rubbed his chin gently on the crown of her head. Her soft hair tickled him pleasantly. "Me too 'Mione. Still, you and Ron are going to have a brilliant Christmas."

"You know what he's got me don't you?"

"Haha, I'm not saying anything," Hermione scowled up at him petulantly. He grinned down at her. "Going to tell me what you got for him?"

"Nope, you're mean and don't deserve to know."

Harry chuckled again and gave the shoulder he was enveloping a squeeze. "Probably not."

"Harry," Hermione angled her neck up to scrutinise him again. "You're happy right now, aren't you?" Harry frowned at her, confused. "I mean, you'd tell us if you weren't, right?"

He smiled and planted a small kiss vaguely on her fluffy head. "I'm happy, don't worry. Full of Christmas cheer and all that jazz."

"Say 'fabulous'."

Harry sniggered. It was a little in-joke between them ever since he'd come out. "Fabulous, darling, fabulous," he said, camply. She giggled.

"Oy!" Ron leaned over and have his arm a poke, "get your own!"

"I'm only borrowing her Ron, I'll give her back, don't worry."

"Well you'd better. Okay are we ordering pudding or what're we doing?"

They managed to eat their way through some chocolate gateau, although Harry managed to fob half of his off on Ron after checking his watch and realising that the time he was due to meet Malfoy wasn't that far off and he'd eaten quite enough to make him bloated. It was vain, but naked bloated Harry wasn't nearly as attractive as the un-bloated variety. He told Ron he was too full to eat another bite. The cake vanished. He left it until the others were pulling on their coats and scarves (Hermione, he noted, really didn't have her own pair of gloves) that he made his apologies and said that he was actually meeting someone for a drink while he was allowed out.

"Ooh, is it the same guy as before? Can we meet him this time, Harry?" asked Ginny, eagerly. Harry noticed Michael look a little uncomfortable at the idea, but pretended he hadn't.

"Maybe next time Gin, I still don't know whether it's going to happen," he said, apologetically. It wasn't so far from the truth.

Hermione and Ginny looked a little put out, but after giving everyone a hug –except for Michael who awkwardly shook hands with him, severely tempting Harry to inform him that being gay wasn't catching – he sat down at the bar and ordered himself a butterbeer. He stayed there for a good hour and a half longer, a few people coming to say goodbye and Merry Christmas to him, including Neville who shouted him another round before leaving. Nicely warmed but not inebriated by the alcohol, he pulled on his winter outer-robe and scarf, waiting until he was a safe distance away before pulling the invisibility cloak out of his inner pocket, throwing it over himself and making his way up through the sludgy snow to the Shrieking Shack.

888

A flickering orange glow glimmered under the door as Harry approached the bedroom, his lit wand raised. He knocked once before entering, first registering the roaring fire burning in the ancient grate, warming the room through, and then Malfoy in his shirtsleeves, sitting on the de-grimed hearthrug with a bottle of wine and two glasses in front of him, staring at the flames. He turned when he heard Harry enter, the firelight and shadow throwing his features into sharp relief.

"I'm late again," said Harry, ruefully.

"No, I was early," said Malfoy affably, watching Harry divest himself of his outer robes and scarf, then pause before pulling his jumper over his head as well. He turned properly and crossed his legs under him. "I got us a bottle of Cabernet Merlot, don't know how good it's going to be though, considering it was in the Hog's Head's cellar," he said, spelling the cork out easily.

Harry decided not to tell him that he really wouldn't be able to tell whether a wine was a 'good one' or not. He dropped onto the rug opposite Malfoy and folded his legs beneath him.

"What, um, what do you tell your friends when they ask where you're going?" he asked, cautiously, accepting his glass and talking a sip, finding the wine quite palatable and sampling a larger mouthful. He looked up and found Malfoy giving him a calculating look. Swallowing his wine, he tried to look less red.

"I tell them the truth," said the blond, simply. Harry paused, glass halfway to his mouth. Malfoy licked his lips and leaned in a little closer to him. "I tell them I'm going to meet my lover," he said, silkily.

Harry watched Malfoy's lips form the word 'lover'. Lover. Before the thought had even formed properly, he launched forwards and kissed him forcefully, unfolding quickly to lean over him. Malfoy laughed quickly, surprised, before he toppled backwards under the onslaught, legs uncrossing as he did so, managing to set his glass down beside them. Harry was still holding his, the rational part of his brain instructing him to keep it upright. With his free hand he cupped the other boy's cheek before sliding his fingers up into the shining hair. One of Malfoy's hands was stroking the nape of his neck; the other had sought its habitual position on his collarbone. As he redirected his lips to the side of the Slytherin's throat, he felt a nose nuzzle his temple, and heard him say: "Oh _God_, take me to bed."

Harry pulled back slightly and looked down at him, foreheads nearly touching. Malfoy's eyes were alight with desire. And something else. Harry grinned, sat up a bit and downed the contents of his glass.

"Seriously," said Malfoy, watching him, "I only did the rug. This floor is still very disgusting."

Harry laughed. "Alright, hold this," he said, giving him his glass. "And this," Malfoy's glass, which he quickly emptied himself, "and that as well," the bottle. "Okay you hold those, and I'll hold you," he placed Malfoy's legs around his waist, looped his arms around his back and scooped them both up into a sitting position, re-adjusting them before heaving them both up. "Fuck, you weigh a lot," he groaned playfully.

Malfoy shot him a scandalised look, "I certainly do not!" he said. Although he was taller than Harry, he was definitely the slighter of the two. He leaned down and nipped Harry's bottom lip, who nearly lost his grip on him. Malfoy yelped and tightened his legs around him.

"Come on," Harry staggered slightly under Malfoy's weight, but got them over to the bed. "You changed the sheets."

"Well, it was about time."

"Hmm." Harry tilted them so that Malfoy could carefully set down the glasses and the bottle of wine on the table beside the bed. After a moment's hesitation, his glasses were also removed from his face and set aside. "Hey, we've been through this, there's a visibility factor," Harry remonstrated, finally lowering them onto the fresh bed so that Malfoy was beneath him again.

Malfoy leaned up to capture his lips, lingering without deepening the kiss. "Don't look at me, just touch me," he said, pausing to let Harry focus on him before calling him "lover."

888

Harry woke up to find himself spooned into Malfoy's back, one arm slung possessively around his waist. He began to move it gently away, only to find a hand clamped down on his wrist, hindering his actions. He smiled and shifted back into the position. "So you are awake."

"I've been awake for hours," said Malfoy, softly, looking down at their now entangled fingers.

"Got the time?"

"Just coming up for half past one."

"Urgh, no," Harry groaned and buried his face in the blond strands, "no I don't want to go back yet."

"There's time."

"Time for what?"

"Take me one more time. Just like this. I want it to be like this," he replied hoarsely. If he sounded as though he'd been crying, the Gryffindor didn't draw attention to it.

Harry propped himself on his free elbow and leant down. Kissed his… lover.

* * *

To be continued after the Christmas Holidays… in the story, that is, don't panic… please review, many thanks for reading, skinnyrita. xxx 


	7. Chapter 7

_Dear gentle readers, _

_Thank you for all your encouragement with this story so far, and in particular to those who have been reviewing. Some readers have been adding be to their alerts and favourites lists without reviewing. Thank you for adding me to your lists, but if you could review even a few lines with your reasons for doing so that would be great. Also any helpful criticism is embraced as ever. I hope my dialogue writing is improving - this chapter, dialogue is crucial._

_I hope you 'enjoy' this chapter, though not in every sense... ahaaa...;-)_

_Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter's bottom. I did have Draco Malfoy's for a while but after a hefty lawsuit I was forced to return it as he looked a bit silly without one and it was a bugger trying to sit down._

* * *

**You Know What They Say:**

**There's a Fine Line Between Hate and …That Other Thing.**

**This Instalment Including the Seventh Night Out.**

**(Good Behaviour, Debatable.)**

White Hot Hate brought to you by Skinnyrita 

[A Christmas and its 'Cheer'.

The top edges of gilded red wallpaper were slowly but surely peeling and ageing away from the coving at the join of ceiling to wall all around the Gryffindor common room, but particularly in the area directly above the fireplace, Harry noted, irked. It seemed like a small task to be left unchecked around the place, which really was quite comfortable for the most part. He had inspected the wallpaper's progress every Christmas he had spent at Hogwarts, and it had to be said that the matter was getting worse every year. Surely he wasn't the only person to have noticed the shoddy upkeep of the walls around here.

He checked himself, withdrawing his baleful gaze back to the fire, which was burning merrily. He'd truly cracked if he was seriously considering drawing peeling wallpaper to people's attention. It was Boxing Day, and he had forgotten just how boring that day could be when you had to spend it alone. Spending the last holiday at The Burrow and the time before at Grimmauld Place was making him soft. He grunted, exasperated with his own sentimentality.

Glancing briefly at the side table next to him, his eye fell on his Christmas presents from Hermione. Books, of course. Good ones though: "So, You Think You Can Fly?" an introduction on how to go about getting signed to professional quidditch teams, and what to do when you got there, with an impressive collection of interviews and photos, and "Spells to Cast When Your Feet Say 'Run'," which he hoped was sort of a joke present, though it looked useful enough. He should really pull himself out of his stupor and have a flick through the quidditch one though; ever since Malfoy had put the idea in his head, he had secretly been a lot keener on the thought of a quidditch career than before. Provided he lived long enough to have one, obviously.

Malfoy had not sent him a present. He had been on tenterhooks for the entirety of the previous day, praying that he wouldn't receive a parcel, as he hadn't sent anything himself, but at the same time half wishing for some sort of token. When he had awoken this morning, however, Hedwig had been perched quietly by his bed, cleaning her wings, a small postcard secured under one foot. There was nothing written on the back, but Harry knew who it was from. Who else would send him an image of theatrical masks? He wasn't sure how to respond, however, and had eventually decided not to. The card was currently tucked into his shirt, the pictured side touching his skin every time he moved.

Harry frowned, picking up his present from Ron with one hand, and absentmindedly brushing the palm of his other hand over his scar. His scar had been acting up since he had pulled a cracker with Professor Snape the previous evening. Check. Ever since he had been practically held at gunpoint and _forced_ to pull a cracker with Snape. Sometimes Dumbledore's twinkling eyes looked a lot like the barrel of a gun to him. A few minutes after his scar began to burn, though Harry said nothing of the disruption to anyone else at the Christmas table, Snape's arm had given a sort of involuntary spasm next to him, though he seemed to be the only person who had noticed it. Snape excused himself only a couple of minutes later. Harry had noticed the expression of merriment become a fixed mask over Dumbledore's wrinkled features.

Now as he balanced the jumbo-pack of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans on his lap with one hand, he felt over his scar more carefully for a moment, suddenly wondering what the Death Eaters had been up to on Christmas night to make Snape's face look quite so much paler as he exited the festivities and slunk into the gloom.

888

[B The Night.

Ron could tell as soon as he looked into Harry's welcoming face, that there would be one arrival even more greatly anticipated than that on himself and Hermione, who was busy receiving jealous compliments on her new accessories, surrounded by a huddle of green Gryffindor girls.

"Ah, so they were the right gifts then," Harry had noted to him.

Ron sighed and returned his attention to his best friend. The shorter boy was at present engrossed in examining one of Neville's Christmas presents (a notebook that wrote rude comments on your homework if you were daft enough to write your essays in it -not one he'd be trying out) and seemed happy enough, if a little distracted. Ron had noticed Harry's hand fly to his scar twice in the short time they'd been back, and hoped that nothing in particular was causing it, just a few random tingles.

Sensing he was being watched, Harry glanced up from the group and grinned at him. As Ron took the opportunity to join them, he remarked to himself that Harry had never looked happier.

888

It was pitch black when Harry entered the Shrieking Shack. It was not an ideal reunion spot, and they would both be in a great deal of trouble if they were found out, as it was not a night he should be allowed outside the castle. But he had to see Malfoy tonight. The sharp ache that had began to manifest itself at dinner, when he had glimpsed the white-blond head amongst the rows of chatting Slytherins, was now an urgent and anticipatory longing shiver running over and inside him. He lit his wand cautiously and picked up the old oil lamp they had left inside the door, lighting it with a flick. For once he was the first to arrive.

Harry waited for fifteen very long and tedious minutes. Each second waiting for Malfoy to appear felt like a decade. He was trembling with the thought of what he wanted to propose tonight. He would give himself to Malfoy, he had decided it about two hours ago and now he was frantic and nervous. Call it a belated Christmas present. He hoped Malfoy would want him.

The door creaked open and the blond stood on the threshold. He opened his mouth to speak but found himself pinned to the doorjamb, Harry's mouth on his neck. He panted in surprise of the sheer force of the gesture. "Wait, wait," he said, pushing Harry away from him a little, letting himself fully into the room.

"I've been going crazy not touching you," Harry admitted, heatedly. He didn't care how truthful he was being, he needed to let the other boy know.

"I need to tell you something," said Malfoy, urgently. Harry wasn't listening.

"Later," he muttered, distractedly, hands in the blonde's robes, grabbing. He kissed the pale neck again, and then the lips, and for a moment Malfoy leaned into the kiss, but only momentarily before he remembered his own urgency.

"No," he said, firmly. He pushed Harry off him again. Harry stared at him. "No, no I have to tell you something. It's important." He walked a few steps away from Harry, then whirled back. Opened his mouth. Shut it again.

The room grew suddenly cold.

"What is it?" Malfoy backed away from him. He was shivering, face ashen. "Malfoy, what is wrong?" Harry repeated, urgently. A cold breeze lifted the small hairs on the back of his neck. He rolled his shoulders against the sensation.

"I… it h-happened at Christmas…" Malfoy said, miserably, not explaining anything. Harry paused. He had never heard the other boy stutter before. It sounded so very wrong as it fell from his tainted lips. He stared at the other boy's wide eyes; a caged animal. He was breathing heavily now as though laboured, as Harry advanced on him again.

"What happened at Christmas?" Harry demanded. The sense of dread washed over his skin again as the other boy merely shrank back from him.

"Don't… don't…" he was murmuring. Harry frowned. Was the boy ill? He looked very ill from where Harry was standing, and that was barely inches from him.

"Don't… what?" he asked, puzzled, voice hushed with trepidation. In the past few minutes they had been in the shack, something had gone horribly wrong, if only he could pinpoint it. Malfoy's issue with intimacy floated to the forefront of his mind, making him suddenly, urgently, question whether he had nearly done what he had promised the other boy never to do… in a placating tone, he said, "calm down, just talk to me," and laid a hand onto the other's trembling arm.

It happened in less than a second.

"HOLY FUCK!" Harry whirled away from Malfoy as if burned. His head felt as though it would split itself in two. He staggered almost to the ground, panting. It took him a moment to collect himself again. He shook the fugginess from his head, and stared at Malfoy. A flash of fear ignited the blonde's eyes. He was shaking his head unconsciously, still whispering 'no, no' to himself, or to Harry, maybe both. Harry snapped his head up. As if recalling some past event, Malfoy's face paled further. "Expelliarmus," said Harry, commandingly.

The force of the spell not only detached Malfoy's wand from his possession, but also sent him flying backwards. He sat in a quivering heap on the floor at the end of the bedstead. "Don't… _don't_…" he repeated. Harry stalked over to him, wand raised. Malfoy scrambled back against the bed. He had nowhere to crawl to, recoiling from the wand tip. Harry grabbed him by the robe and tore his sleeve clean off in his fury. Malfoy could feel his angry breath on his own face.

"When did you do it?" Harry demanded, savagely. Malfoy trembled, eyes fixed on the wand. "Answer me!"

"C-Christmas Day," he said. Harry's eyes blazed green. Malfoy saw a flash of the killing curse within them. "P-please, Harry… d-don't-"

"Don't you dare say my name!" Harry said, coldly. The tip of his wand pressed under Malfoy's ribs.

"I had to," the blond whispered. Tears were falling freely from his frantic face. "I had n-no, no ch-choice, _please_…" he hiccoughed.

"There is always a choice," Harry informed him, coldly. "You have made yours I see. I was a fool to think you had ever changed."

"NO!" Malfoy cried, desperately, "No, no you don't understand, I had to do it! They had planned it since my 17th, I didn't know what …If you would just listen to me-!"

"I am listening and listening," Harry said, icily. His mouth curled into a sinister, ugly line. "I listened when you told me you wanted me. I listened when you _cried out my name in bed_. I am listening now…" he leaned closer. Malfoy's head hit the board behind him, expression of mounting horror. The tears froze on his face, his eyes focused on Harry's own, red-rimmed and wet under his glasses. "I hear your lies, Malfoy," Harry spat out his name as if it were poison. Malfoy inhaled sharply. "I hate you. I _hate_ you." Malfoy was shaking his head. Harry eyed him pitilessly. In the furthest recesses of his mind his reason implored him to listen to Malfoy, but right now the noise of hate and betrayal rushing through his ears was enough to drown all else other. "You venomous creature, I despise you. To become this… this - I was a fool to want you. If I were someone else I would kill you."

"Please," Malfoy whispered. He felt almost paralysed. It could not be Harry saying these things to him. "You –you don't mean it… you _can't_…"

"Oh I can," Harry's lip curled mercilessly, pressing the wand tip harder against the other boy's chest. "Tell me, Malfoy, is this the reason you don't like _intimacy_?" he asked cruelly, voice climbing an octave on the last word, "don't like _sex_? God forbid anyone unworthy should want to _fuck_ – precious – perfect – Death – Eater – Malfoy," he continued. Malfoy's eyes refilled with tears. "That's the thing about _fucking_, Malfoy," he said harshly, jaw clenched, eyes digging for the most painful spot. "There's no such thing as 'making love' when I never loved you at all."

"NO!" Malfoy pushed him off abruptly. Harry, taken by surprise, lost in a haze of white-hot hate, fell backwards. Malfoy sagged, crying exhaustedly, hugging his marred arm to him. This wasn't Harry snarling so viciously, cutting so deeply. Harry couldn't have used him, he had promised, he was patient and gentle, he couldn't be saying this. This boy he had given his most personal assets to. Had let touch and tease his most intensely private body. "You –you don't m-mean that," he whispered thickly, almost to himself. "You said it wasn't about sex!" he blurted, loudly.

Harry laughed humourlessly and got to his feet. Redirected his wand to the target. "I lied," he said cuttingly. Malfoy's dismayed eyes stared up at him. Whether they saw him through the mist of new tears was debateable. Harry licked his lips, and made for the kill. "For who," he said softly, leaning forwards a little so that the Slytherin on the floor could catch every calculated word, "could resist such a willing piece of arse like you?"

He expected Malfoy to lunge at him. The boy crumpled. "You're lying," he whimpered into his drawn up knees, voice small, and tight, and humiliated.

Harry snorted. "You should be thanking me," he said lightly, "If it wasn't for me maybe you'd still be the _virgin queen_."

Malfoy gasped, and looked up at him. Harry stared at him. His heart lurched as if it wished to desert him. Where had that last comment come from? Some deep un-chartered cavern of hatred left to rot for too long. He felt something warm slide down his face, and realised he was crying. "You bastard," he whispered. The hand holding his wand shook and he lowered it halfway. "I would have protected you."

Malfoy gazed at him silently, tears still streaming down his face from the outpouring of hatred laid upon him. "I was going to let you take me tonight! _I wanted you to do it_!" Harry exclaimed. His voice cracked with the onslaught of more hot tears. Malfoy made a fractional movement towards him. "Don't you dare," Harry commanded, regaining his emotional control and raising his wand once more. "Never come near me again. I hate you."

He turned on his heel, and stumbled, shaking, towards the doorway.

"H - Harry, _please_…"

On the threshold he turned. "Say my name again and I promise that the next spell to come out of this wand will be unforgivable."

Malfoy barely had time to catch the threat before Harry had disappeared. Leaving him alone in the night. If he had had the energy to follow him, he might have seen the other boy be violently sick on the dewy grass. As it was, it was many hours nearer to the dawn before he had the sense to gather himself back to the castle, the pulsing tattooed arm slipped inside his ruined robe.

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_Please review... remember, no death threats:-p_

_skinnyrita xxx_

_PS - thank you to those who have offered beta services. I am alright for this fic, and have it mapped out in my head, but when I return to 'Crocodiles', which I honestly plan to do at some stage, I may give a couple of people an email. Thanks for offering :-)_


	8. Chapter 8

_Sorry everyone for the late update, I do have the story panned out in my head, but as usual have a lot of work on right now :-(_

_Hopefully this chapter will not disappoint, it's an important one. _

_Enjoy, and please review, many thanks!_

_Disclaimer: Bananas in pyjamas are coming down the stairs... I do not own Harry Potter and I never will because I didn't think of it first, damn it..._

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A Hand is Offered in the Darkness.

_A noble and selfless gesture brought to you by skinnyrita._

"You're _nothing_ but a whore."

"I'm _finished_ with you."

"I _hate_ you."

"_Whore_."

Draco Malfoy woke with a wrenching gasp, hands balled tightly in the duvet cover, cotton pillow damp with sweat and the hot tears trickling over the bridge of his nose, cheeks, temples, into the miserable bed. Dreamed words ringing in his head. He shut his eyes again and curled further in on himself.

He knew that his own imagination was adding in words that Harry had never said, even in the terrifying fit of rage that had left him, Draco, crumpled on the floor of the Shrieking Shack.

"Who could resist such a willing piece of arse like you?"

Harry had said that. Harry Potter, the gentle, selfless and slightly daft hero he had trusted with his so heavily guarded body, who had been patient with him when he could not achieve the ease with intimacy that seemed to come so naturally to others, who did not even attempt to force, when Draco could not bear to be touched, and who could spend a whole night and morning lying skin to skin with him but maintain the self control never to take advantage.

And yet he had said those things. In the heat of anger and hate (oh God, did he hate him now? Draco couldn't bear to think about it…) but there had to be some degree of truth in those words, they had slipped out so quickly and easily, ripping into the pale Slytherin again and again and again. Only one phrase had seemed to startle even Harry himself as it tripped from his snarling lips:

"You should be thanking me, if it wasn't for me maybe you'd still be the _virgin queen_."

Had Harry meant to use him all this time? Draco couldn't believe it, but it had to be true. Wasn't Harry after his body and how it could… _service_ him, barely as Draco had even walked in the door? He must have been after a very physical reunion, grabbing and biting and kissing him so urgently that it was almost too important for him to listen to what Draco was trying to tell him! Draco pummelled his pillow angrily and turned over, fresh tears hot on his sweaty face. He pushed them aside. Unbidden, the treasured memory rose of Harry pushing the sweaty fringe from his eyes for him after making love ('_fucking_,' he thought, savagely, 'it was _fucking_, that was all it ever was,') in the Room of Requirement, curling onto his chest in post-coital bliss, one of Draco's legs still wrapped around him.

In spite of himself, he felt the backs of his thighs and a spot near his groin tingle from the memory of that night, the sex, Harry's face in ecstasy as he climaxed, the feel of his release inside of him triggering his own. Draco stifled a moan, turning over again, angry with himself. He enjoyed the feel of Harry being joined with him, moving with him, taking him… God! Maybe he was a whore after all. Is this what whores felt like? He hated himself and felt disgusting, overwhelmed by the onslaught of intimate memories.

Hadn't Saint Potter _erased his memory_ after their first time of intimacy together? A time that Draco still carried only the very vaguest of recollections of. He'd given himself to Draco, yes, but once he'd got what he wanted he wiped the experience from Draco's mind as though such moments were expendable and certainly in the knowledge that the night had been worthless to him now that he was sated.

That last time in the shack, before Christmas… when he had let Potter (never call him _Harry_ again) take him again, and had wanted it, and then later on his side, pleading with him, imploring him not to stop, and oh, God, to take him deeper, 'oh God, Potter, Potter _please_…'

Stop it.

Stop it.

Draco clapped a hand to his own mouth to stifle the high-pitched sob – both of wretchedness and miserable arousal – that sought to escape him. He was hard, and hated himself, his skin boiling hot under the twisting duvet. He knew he was working himself up into a frenzy and sought to calm down, ignoring his lusts and concentrating on breathing the cold air filtering through the dungeons. The other boys were breathing rhythmically, undisturbed. To distract himself, he glared at the bed curtains before glancing down at his own arm as he removed the hand still covering his own face.

Mistake.

Where his pyjama sleeve had fallen down, the Dark Mark was a clearly visible shadow on his pearly arm. He stared at it, shaking. After a moment's indecision, the hand belonging to the other arm snaked into his bottoms and began to stroke, turning his brain to mushy oblivion, if only it had not been an image of Potter, writhing above him and then pulsing inside of him, all over him, that finally brought him off…

Exhausted, sheets sodden with sweat, tears and semen, he fell into a fitful sleep.

888

Ron trailed along the corridor behind Harry and Hermione, trying to work out what had happened. Harry had banged into the dormitory in the middle of the night, long before Ron had expected his tryst with Malfoy to be over, and had immediately climbed into his four-poster, fully clothed, and pulled the curtains.

"Harry?"

"Go back to sleep."

"Harry, you okay?"

"Ron, fuck _off_."

Ron had fucked off back to bed, frowning, worried. Clearly, whatever Harry had had going with Malfoy was now at an end. It had been nearly a week now and his friend's black mood had done nothing to ease itself. If he wasn't snarling at anyone in his way, Harry was sitting silently, staring into space with a depressing look of despondency. Ron wasn't sure whether snarling Harry or silent Harry was worst. Silent Harry was at least a lot quieter and less upsetting for the other inhabitants of Gryffindor tower. Ron sighed and hoisted his bag a little on his shoulder. Harry had been doing so well, had even seemed happy, and now he was slipping back into depression again. Ron had no idea how to help him.

It was clear that something monumental had happened between his friend and the ferret to get him so worked up. Ron had barely glimpsed Malfoy at meals all week, so he hadn't been able to take a good look at him, though how seeing Malfoy would be able to help him piece things together he didn't know.

"Potter?"

Oh, Jesus. A quiet voice had jerked Ron from his reverie, and he nearly walked straight into Hermione, who had pulled back a little from what was probably going to end in a confrontation. Malfoy was standing near an alcove. He looked less intimidating without Crabbe and Goyle flanking him, Ron noticed, although he had height on Harry, and nearly sat eye-level to Ron.

Ron edged closer. "Get the fuck off me, Malfoy," Harry was saying, shrugging Malfoy's thin fingers off his elbow.

"Potter, I need to talk to you," Malfoy said. His tone was urgent, and a little earnest. Ron and Hermione glanced at each other. Her eyes were warning. Ron inspected Malfoy's face. It was thinner and paler, gaunter than he ever remembered. Skipping meals didn't seem to be doing him any favours.

"You couldn't possibly have anything to say to me," Harry spat. He stepped closer to Malfoy. Ron noticed the blond boy edge back into the wall a little. He noted it, wondering. "You disgust me," Harry said, contemptuously. Malfoy stared at him, his expression frozen. Ron experienced a horrible wave of something a lot like sympathy.

"Please."

Malfoy had uttered the word so softly, that Ron had to lip-read it from where he was standing. Something horrible churned in his stomach. Malfoy seemed to have forgotten the presence of Harry's friends. They were staring at each other steadily, and for a moment Ron thought that maybe Harry was going to agree to go and talk with him after all.

"Touch me again and I will kill you," said Harry, bluntly. He turned away and stalked down the corridor. Hermione glanced at Ron again before hurrying after him. Ron glanced at Malfoy as he passed. The glassy-eyed boy was simply leaning against the wall, expressionless.

888

"Damn, I think I left my quill and ink in Charms," said Ron, suddenly. Harry and Hermione paused. Hermione frowned at him.

"Want us to come back with you?" asked Harry, ungraciously.

Ron shrugged. "Nah, go on, I'll meet you upstairs." He turned on his heel and strode off back the way they had come. When he got round the corner, he broke into a run.

The stretch of corridor was deserted when he reached it again. "Oh, bloody hell!" Ron stood there for a moment, panting, unsure yet of what he was even going to do. He wandered along slowly for a few minutes, poking his head into the rooms as he passed them. He was about to give up when he thought he heard a noise coming from a doorway on his left. He entered the room cautiously, before shutting the door behind him.

Malfoy was sitting on the floor against the far wall of the empty classroom, arms around his knees. He looked up at the sound of the door closing, and scrambled to his feet. "Get out."

"Look, Malfoy - "

"I'm not in the mood right now, Weasley." He staggered forwards, making to go past Ron, who barred his way. "Let me pass," he demanded, groping for his wand.

"Expelliarmus."

"Hey!"

"I know about you and Harry."

Malfoy stepped away from him, startled. The backs of his knees hit a desk behind him and he sat on it without thinking. Ron chucked the wand back. Malfoy caught it without looking, a seeker's reflex. He stared at it for a moment, as if confused as to how it had ended up back in his hand. "What is this, you supposedly, 'know'?" he asked, carefully.

Ron folded his arms. "You're sleeping together."

Malfoy swallowed quietly, attention on anything but Ron. "He –he told you."

"There are some things I can work out for myself," said Ron wryly. He didn't want to tell Malfoy exactly how he had found out.

"Who knows?"

"Just me and Hermione. Don't worry Malfoy, no one's going to hear about this. You'd ruin Harry's good reputation, for one thing."

Malfoy laughed, a humourless sound through his nose. "Come to warn me off? Sorry to disappoint you, Weasley, but as you make have deduced, Potter and I are most certainly _not_ sleeping together."

"I haven't come to warn you off." Malfoy stared at Ron now. Ron cleared his throat and took a seat on one of the other desks. "You may have noticed that Harry's been a little more angry than usual this past week. It's something to do with you, and I want to know what it is. Harry's moods are the types that tend to brush off on everyone else. To put it bluntly, Malfoy, he's hell to live with right now, and I think you might have the answers as to why."

Malfoy sneered at him. "This is none of your business, Weasley."

"Oh no? Don't make me regret my decision to help you, Malfoy, don't you know that - "

"Help me? What the hell? This conversation is anything but helpful, you - "

"Shut up and listen! Don't you realise how happy you were making him, Malfoy? And believe me, it is killing me to say this to you. Right up until Christmas, something was changing and that's the reason I didn't come and warn you off him… Jesus! Don't you realise how happy he was, being with you? For years he's stayed in his depressive funk, bloody years! Sometimes a bit of the real Harry peers through, but for the most part it's doom and gloom at Harry central and let me tell you, that's a lot to put up with. But we put up with it because we're his friends, and he needs them! But there're some things we can't fix, Malfoy, and you finally did it. I don't know what you did and I really don't care to know _how_, but for the past three months he was genuinely happy, and much as it pains me to admit it, it wasn't anything me or Hermione were giving him!"

Ron paused for breath. Malfoy was staring at him, mouth slightly open.

"And now… he's back in his funk again and I need you to give me some clue. What happened at Christmas?"

Malfoy gazed at him for several moments, as if hypnotised by Ron's bright red hair. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, then sighed and said, "I can't tell you. It's private."

"Bloody hell Malfoy, I'm not going to tell anyone."

"Look, it happened, and I didn't have a choice, and it's not like if I tell you you'll understand. He certainly didn't…"

"So you're a Death Eater now," Ron nodded, "yeah… yeah I had my suspicions. Had to be something huge to make him - " he paused and regarded Malfoy. "Don't suppose you did have a choice," he said, quietly. "No one will hear about it from me, Malfoy." Malfoy gaped at him, an incredulous expression on his face. Ron glanced at the arm currently swathed in voluminous Slytherin robes. "Can I see it?"

"See it?" Malfoy repeated, dumbly.

"The Dark Mark. I've seen Snape's, obviously, but I never saw a new one before."

Malfoy glanced at the door, but it was firmly shut and there was no windowpane in it. Not sure why he was allowing this, he turned back his robe and then the sleeve of his jumper until his skinny forearm was visible. Ron leaned forwards and peered at it. It was blacker than Snape's and shockingly black on Malfoy's pale skin. He prodded the edge of it with a finger. Malfoy inhaled in surprise but didn't say anything. Ron pressed it lightly with the pad of his finger. He could feel no join; the Mark had moulded itself into the skin seamlessly. He sat back again. Malfoy pulled his sleeve down, hastily.

"Did it hurt?"

"Yes. I had a feeling it would be this Christmas. I was surprised they didn't do it earlier." Draco wasn't sure why he was confiding in Ron, but he didn't feel as threatened.

"Does it hurt now?"

"No, you surprised me, that's all."

Ron cleared his throat. He could now see clearly what he planned to do. "Harry has a very black and white view of morals. If you say to me that you had no choice but to get the Dark Mark, I believe you, but he wouldn't. You see, if it had been him, he would have died instead. But I want to live, and I reckon if I was in a room of Death Eaters and You-Know-Who, I'd have a mask and a mark too, that's the reality of it. Do you want to be a Death Eater? Do you want to follow You-Know-Who?"

"No," said Malfoy, no hesitation.

"I'm putting my trust in you, Malfoy, so don't make me regret it. There's no way to get you out of the Dark Lord's service now, but there is protection, if you want it."

"What do I have to do?"

"Memorise this: O.O.T.P."

"O.O.T.B."

"No, O.O.T.**P**!"

"P, got it. O.O.T.P."

"When you leave here, go straight to Dumbledore and tell him I sent you, then quote those letters. If he believes your story then he will protect you, as he protects all of us. You must tell him the whole truth, don't lie about anything he asks you, even if it's personal."

"Why are you doing this?" asked Malfoy, bewildered but looking hopeful.

"Because Harry's my friend, and he needs help. And if keeping you safe is going to help him, then I'll do it." Ron stood up and confronted Malfoy. "I saw him smile when he thought no one was looking. The first one for years he hasn't forced out or faked. He smiled at you, and if I get my way he'll smile like that again. He has a problem, Malfoy, he's depressive, you can't have missed that. I can see you are too."

"It's not that simple, Weasley, you don't know some of the things he said to me. I can't trust him right now."

"Then trust _me_, Malfoy. O.O.T.P."

"O.O.T.P. Got it."

"Go straight to Dumbledore. Right now. And Malfoy," Ron turned back briefly as he made to leave the room, conscious of the fact that he'd need a new excuse for the length of time he'd taken to 'retrieve his quill' from Charms, "Don't make me regret this. You betray us and I will never help you again."

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_Thanks for reading, please review, many thanks, skinnyrita xxx_


	9. Chapter 9

Hi there everyone, thanks for your patience. I have already started writing the part after this one, the story is a-flowing, just thought you might like to know. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I own the rights to no part of the Harry Potter franchise, and especially not the books.

* * *

**Confrontations.**

_Lessons learned in one's own nature._

_skinnyrita_

[A: Relocation.

Harry entered the kitchen of number twelve, Grimmauld Place, and stopped, hands frozen halfway through brushing floo dust and soot off his robes. He had just been awoken at half past two in the morning by Professor McGonagall, who had informed him that for his personal safety his situation had been reassessed and he would be relocated to his bequeathed residence until at least Easter. It was suggested that he make himself comfortable and get some sleep, as someone would be with him the next day to arrange how to work out a home timetable. After a short and fruitless discussion, she had sternly made it clear that under no circumstances other than that of the fatal variety would he be abandoning his NEWTS. He had been unceremoniously shoved into a fireplace, and was now standing in the doorway of the kitchen, eyes fixed on the unwelcome extra seated by the hearth with a cup of tea.

"What… the fuck are _you_ doing in my house?" he finally managed, regaining his faculties and hastily pulling his arms from their ridiculous pose.

Malfoy half-stood, still clutching his mug, which had just tilted at a dangerous angle. He looked just as astonished to see Harry in the kitchen, as Harry had to find him there. They stared at each other for an understandably moment, before the sound of a throat being cleared nearly made them both jump out of their skins.

Harry's head snapped round so fast that his neck clicked. Ron was sitting on the far side of the kitchen table with his feet up, swathed in a threadbare maroon dressing gown. He cleared his throat again and took a sip of his own tea before admitting, "I sent Malfoy to Dumbledore so that he could get some protection. It looks like the old loon's decided you'd both do better off staying here until he figures out what he wants to do about all of…" he swept a hand expansively, "this."

"No, he separated all of us," said Harry, quickly, not looking at Malfoy anymore. Malfoy narrowed his eyes at him but kept silent.

Ron shrugged and laced his fingers around his mug, "It's a big house mate."

"It's _my_ house!" Harry exclaimed, childishly. He stabbed a finger in Malfoy's general direction. "I want him out!" Ron raised an eyebrow at the tone. Harry lowered his voice an octave: "don't you know what … _he_ is, Ron?" Malfoy bristled silently.

"He's a Death Eater," said Ron, calmly, "why do you think I sent him to Dumbledore in the first place."

"I do not want to be shacked up with _him_!" Harry shouted, barely managing to stop himself from stamping his foot.

"You sure about that?" Ron's tone had become cutting and knowing. Harry blinked at him.

"Potter, he knows," said Malfoy baldly. Harry swung back round to face him. Here in his kitchen, he was surprised by the look of malevolence that Malfoy threw at him; the same Malfoy who had sobbed at his feet only a week ago, and who had pleaded openly with him in an exposed corridor merely two days previous.

"What? I mean… knows what?" he asked, belatedly. Malfoy set his cup down and folded his arms. "You told him?"

"They already knew." He smirked at him. Bloody smirked!

He glanced wildly at Ron, who was still drinking his tea in careful sips and now watching the exchange with an air of detached interest. "This is _my_ house," Harry whispered, more to himself than anyone, and no one bothered to answer him. "Are you staying here?" he directed this to Ron, who shook his head.

"Not right now, mate. I'm only here now to make sure you two don't kill each other before someone checks in on you and they work out who's going to stay here with you. I'll stay in my usual room tonight, then I'll be off in the morning, got loads of homework…" he glanced at Malfoy. The blond got to his feet gracefully and murmured something about going to bed, and passed Harry out of the kitchen. He felt a frisson in the air as the presence passed him. "Sit down mate," Ron continued, pushing out a chair with his foot, "made you a cup of tea… what my mum always does when things seem to be in crisis," he said, pouring out the brown liquid and nudging the milk and sugar-bowl towards Harry.

Harry stared at his tea. "Why did you help him?" he demanded, quietly. The anger and shock had left him to be replaced with a tiredness and sense of feeling lost.

"He seemed to be good for you," said Ron, maturely. Harry looked up at him, startled, to find Ron's familiar brown eyes staring steadily at him.

"I'm the git then, I suppose: I didn't tell you."

"Yeah, you are. A total git. But you're always being a git Harry; it's nothing new to me. Look, I never expected Dumbledore to hole the both of you up in here, but I wasn't just going to leave him in the state he was in the other day."

Harry stared at him. The words: '_but you did'_, did not surface, but they might as well have been shouted. Ron teaching him morals? The world had gone topsy-turvy. Or had Ron always been like that, and he'd been too full of himself to notice? He remembered his astonishment over Ron's care of Hermione and felt guilty.

"Where's Hermione?"

"Hopefully still asleep in the tower. I need to get to bed too, I've been here for a while showing Malfoy where the basics are, and we may be on some sort of truce right now but that doesn't mean it wasn't bloody hard work. The order have been here and sorted him out a room next to the one Hermione usually has."

"That's the floor above ours."

"So it is," said Ron bemusedly. Harry was either still in shock at the recent revelations, or so sleep deprived that he was turning ga-ga. "Easy enough for you to ignore each other indefinitely if you really want to. Look mate, I'm going to bed, gotta get up and get out tomorrow." Harry nodded into his tea. Ron smiled lopsidedly, tired. "Alright, I'm going up then." He heaved himself out of the chair and set his mug on the kitchen counter.

"Ron?" he turned. "Um, thanks. For putting up with me being a git."

"No problem mate." Ron chuckled and went out. Harry poured his tea into the sink.

888

[B: Confrontation.

"…BECAUSE I DON'T WANT ANY FUCKING DEATH EATER SCUM IN MY HOUSE!"

A few flecks of spit landed on Malfoy's face. He swiped them with back of his hand and replied, "Perhaps you should try listening to me for once, Potter. Didn't seem too difficult a feat for Weasley."

Harry bristled at the calm tone, the cold and collected voice. He had been good at controlling Malfoy before, what had changed? "I REFUSE TO LISTEN TO A LIAR," he hollered, childishly. His throat croaked on the last word. He coughed pathetically. Malfoy stepped closer to him and looked down on him, pointedly. He hated him.

"Have you finished screaming?" he asked, superior. Harry turned redder, but swallowed his next sentence as his throat had turned to sandpaper inside and it was all he could do not to cough and splutter before his former lover and newly re-instated nemesis. Malfoy brought them chest-to-chest, looking straight down his nose at the bespectacled boy. Harry stepped back and nearly topped backwards over the end of the couch. Malfoy grabbed him instinctively. Harry blanched at his pale, angry face. "Do you really think I want to stay here with you, you spineless little bastard?" Harry opened his mouth slightly, aghast. When had he given the blond the upper hand? It was scarier than he cared to admit.

"You deserve everything," he said, stupidly, and not meaning it. Not really. Malfoy's fist connected with his face and he went sprawling backwards onto the couch, barely leaving him time to collect the stars dancing in front of him before he found himself pinned painfully, the Slytherin on top of him looking murderous. He swallowed, sucking the blood from his teeth.

"I deserve it?" Malfoy asked, quietly. Harry's cheek twitched involuntarily. "No, no I can see that now," he continued, chillingly. His eyes bored into Harry's unblinkingly. "I deserve to be used, don't I Potter? To be called a fucking _whore_ by the one person I thought I could trust? Oh, silly, silly me," he spat.

"I –I never called you a wh… a wh… I never called you a…"

"Oh no?" Malfoy's hands tightened and twisted on his wrists. Harry gasped painfully before suppressing it. "Who could resist such a willing piece of arse, like you?" asked Malfoy, snarling. "You're right, Potter, maybe I would still be the _virgin queen_ if you hadn't come along and… what's the word? … _relieved_ me of it." Harry twisted frantically. The cold hands restricted him further. "But I don't care about that. We both know I'd be a fool _ever_ to let you touch me again," Malfoy continued, his soft tone at odds with the hard nails digging into the pulse points on Harry's wrists. "God knows why I'm even here, trying, letting Dumbledore and Weasley 'help' me, seeing as I apparently can't trust anyone, not even the bloke I've _stupidly_ let … _fuck_ me, isn't that what you said?"

Harry's breath felt thin in his windpipe, even though that part of him wasn't being restricted. He had forgotten how harshly Malfoy's words could flay him when he put an effort into it, and oh God was he paying for it now. Hearing his own words come flying back at him. Had he really said that? He couldn't even remember what he'd said. Guilt was crushing him and he felt like crying for the first time since the night he had pulled his wand on the Slytherin and said those terrible things to him. "I didn't mean it," he whispered, miserably.

Malfoy laughed, one derisive cackle. "Yes you did, you little _bitch_: you meant every fucking last word! You couldn't make that shit up. Don't you ever get tired of being thick, Potter? Did you really think I'd ever be in a position to say no to the Dark Lord? Would _you_? I mean really? If he was standing before you, and you were me, and you were surrounded by Death Eaters and looking into the face of your parents, would you really have said no?"

"I'd rather have died!" Harry spat, outraged. But he might have lied.

"Like _fuck_!" Malfoy released one of his wrists and threw a punch at him again. Harry took the brief opportunity to wrestle him off the couch and onto the floor. He soon had Malfoy pinned under him. The blond gazed up at him, exhausted. "Everyone wants to live, Potter," he said, tiredly. Harry leaned down and tried to kiss him, almost on reflex, and for a second he thought he felt the blond lean into it, desperately. Before he felt a knee connect with his groin.

"You're a bastard," Malfoy informed him hoarsely, red-faced. "Get off me."

Harry remained lying on the floor beside the couch, breathing the dust.

"Smoothly done," said a humorous voice. Harry groaned. "I'm off mate, I'll owl you or see you at some point. McGonagall and Kingsley are down in the kitchen waiting to talk to you and Malfoy; you'd better get it together."

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[C: Mortification

It was hard work avoiding Malfoy, despite how large the house was. Harry was hiding in the dark bookshelves of the dubious library, perusing the tomes handed down generation to generation by centuries of Blacks. He was feeling disturbingly shaky, after a fitful night plagued by explicitly sexual dreams, memories of having hot, fantastic, but gentle, sex with Malfoy. Pale, naked body, his and only ever his, moaning and writhing beneath him. God. Seeing him in the kitchen that morning he had fled here before his blush could catch up with his face.

They had been in the house for a week and had barely said two words to each other. A teacher had turned up after normal hours a couple of times, to look at their work. They had been set exercises and tasks out of their textbooks, and it was more difficult to learn without a teacher than Harry had anticipated. He didn't know how he was going to pass his NEWTS at this rate. This afternoon they were scheduled to have Snape visit, and Harry was dreading it because he knew that in all likelihood they would have to brew a potion together and that meant that he would probably have to talk to Malfoy at some point. Kingsley was somewhere in the house, probably in the master study with his own paperwork. Obviously Dumbledore wasn't going to leave Harry and Malfoy to their own devices completely, that would be ridiculous.

Harry emerged cautiously from the bookshelves and approached the table he had laden with his school stuff. McGonagall had set both boys up with a work area on either side of the free space in the library, though they were under strict instructions to only use the books on the shelf nearest, which had been sorted out by a couple of spare order members, for referencing, and only if absolutely necessary. She didn't want to have to return the following week to discover that the boys' hands had been bitten off by tetchy old books. He sat down and pulled his 'timetable' towards him so that he could see what prep he had to do for the potions 'class' later on.

_Potions._

_A.M - Read pages 326 through to 500 inclusive, then write a seven inch summary on the Metabolism Potion, including its uses and disadvantages, contents and key ingredients. Discuss the importance of these key ingredients. _

P.M – With a partner, successfully brew the Metabolism Potion. This potion will be lab-tested.

Seven inches. A very inappropriate thought, probably some sort of residual matter from his dream, rose into the forefront of Harry's mind. He dispelled it quickly and pulled his text towards him, thumbing through to the appropriate page, a great deal of dull reading ahead of him.

Fifteen minutes later, he was distracted by Malfoy, entering the library, crossing the room, and seating himself at his own respective desk. Harry watched him over the top of his book. "Seven inches," he saw him mouth, reading. Harry cleared his throat uncomfortably. Malfoy glanced up at him. Caught him staring. He raised a cool eyebrow. "What?"

"Nothing," Harry muttered, flicking his eyes hastily to the book again. He had a feeling that Malfoy was still watching him, but refused to look up again. Eventually he became immersed in his work.

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"Mr Potter, is there any reason why you're not paying the slightest bit of attention? I understand it must be difficult for you to concoct this potion without Miss Granger rabbiting instructions at you, but perhaps you could do Mr Malfoy the favour of not failing you both."

"Sorry sir," said Harry, distractedly, pulling his attention away from Malfoy's hands, one of which had just rested barely inches from his own. Snape paused, eyebrows slightly raised, but seemed to take the response as it was, and turned away to look at their summaries. Malfoy leaned forward in his chair and spread his knees a little so that his feet could rest flat on the floor. He reached forwards to select a jar of knotty looking roots. "Stop it," Harry muttered, desperately.

Malfoy glanced at him, frowning. "What?" he hissed.

"Nothing." Harry flushed and picked up the method sheet.

"Stop nothing," said Malfoy, bemused. He licked his lips, smirked. "Oh, I see." He gave Harry an evil look and squeezed his upper thigh under the table. Harry gasped instinctively. Snape turned. Malfoy removed his hand quickly.

Snape frowned at them but seemed to find nothing untoward. "Potter," he said, briskly, "tell me, is there a reason why your writing is so much larger than Mr Malfoy's?"

"I have big handwriting, sir," said Harry, stubbornly, trying not to look at Malfoy again.

"Do not mistake me for an idiot, Potter. You will rework this summary and correct your mistakes. I expect a proper summary by tomorrow. You can send it back with Professor Flitwick." He slapped the summary back down in front of Harry. "Just because you are working outside school, does not give you an excuse to fail this subject. Mr Malfoy, eighty-six percent. You could do better." Malfoy stopped smirking immediately.

Brewing the Metabolism Potion was a harrowing experience, long and tedious, and would have been difficult to brew even if Harry wasn't trying not to look at Malfoy. It was too late to bother having dinner when Snape flooed out. Harry finished washing up the cauldron and utensils and set them on the draining board. He thought he might make his way up to the study to see whether Kingsley was still up.

A pale hand shot out of the gloom and catapulted him into the hallway wall. "Why are you still looking at me, Potter?" Harry looked up into the cold eyes. The lips smirked. "This isn't a game, you know. I don't want us to play right now. Playing has become dull, to be frank." Malfoy pressed him into the wall a little. Fingers found the ridge of his collarbone, as they had always done. Harry breathed softly, desiring. Pale lips hovered close to his. Close but not touching. His skin prickled. He raised his lips. Raised his body into the cold touch. The hand slapped him abruptly on the caressed collarbone. He shot backwards into the wall, humiliated. "Now who's desperate?"

The cold hands left him. Harry watched Malfoy's back until it slid out of the light and up the stairs, before beating a retreat back to the kitchen. He sat in the silent gloom for a long time, fingers laced around a cup of tea.

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[D: Apology

Malfoy entered the kitchen early, in search of breakfast. He had almost made it out again, armed with toast and coffee, when Harry awoke. The boy must have spent the whole night down there.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry," he blurted. Malfoy froze. Harry stood up. "I'm sorry and I should have listened to you. I'm… _sorry_," he said, repetitively. As if repeating the fact could make everything better.

Malfoy regarded him silently for a moment.

"That's not enough," he said, finally.

Harry stared at the empty doorway, then sat again. The cold tea had formed a skin.

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[E: Action

Harry leapt onto the fallen Death Eater and pinned him to the floor, covered his body with his own, allowing the invisibility cloak to fall onto both of them. Moody's spell bounced off his protective shield. Harry paused as the Order moved on into the next part of the building, satisfied that they had immobilised the inhabitants of the room they had just passed through. Harry breathed. The Death Eater below him was lying still, though breathing, beneath him. If Moody worked out that Harry had snuck out with the Order, he would be for it. He waited a moment further, before relieving the Death Eater of his mask.

"How did you know it was me?" Malfoy whispered.

"I don't know."

"You're an idiot."

"Come on," Harry pulled him to his feet, "Death Eaters are flooing out of here. If we hurry we can get back to number twelve." He secured the cloak over them both and slung an arm round Malfoy's hexed and beaten body. Pulled them out of there.

"What the hell did you think you were doing?" Malfoy hissed. He was lying on the couch as Harry applied stinging potions to some attractive purple hex-marks on his side. They hadn't spoken further since the encounter in the kitchen, and it had been over a week of avoiding each other, interspersed with awkward glances, since then.

"I heard you go out and thought you must have been summoned," said Harry, not looking at him, his attention fixed on his task. Malfoy flinched as he swept the cloth pad over a particularly ugly wound. Harry moved his hand to the blonde's stomach to steady them both. Malfoy's hand moved to his instinctively. Harry glanced up into the grey eyes and felt Malfoy hold his breath. "I'd been eavesdropping on the Order members, trying to find out why so many of them had turned up here. They had news of a large meeting tonight. I had to see whether I could find you there. You know Moody would have blasted you to smithereens without checking. He's an 'ask questions later' sort of bloke."

"I'd noticed," said Malfoy, removing his hand from its place on top of Harry's. Harry jerked his hand away from the taut stomach muscles and snapped his attention back to the hex-marks.

"How can I show you how sorry I am?" Harry murmured, quietly. He thought Malfoy would not have heard.

"It lacks finesse, but you're not doing too badly right now," Malfoy whispered.

Harry looked up again, astonished. The other boy was gazing at him with that half-smiling expression he had missed so much gracing his features. Hardly thinking about anything else he wanted to say, Harry kneeled up and offered him a tender kiss. There was no demand behind it, only hope. After only half a second's hesitation, a hand threaded through his hair and pulled him gently down. Harry tasted the soft, thin lips carefully, resisting the urge to deepen the kiss, terrified of scaring the blond away again, the tip of his nose carefully nuzzling it's lost partner. Three long moments of bliss, then Malfoy's harsh gasp jerked him away. Harry started, alarmed, a prize idiot. What was he doing? Malfoy didn't want this…

Then he realised he had inadvertently leant against Malfoy's wounds.

"Shit, I'm sorry," he bumbled with the cloth, dripping some more potion onto the cloth and pressing it into Malfoy's side again. Emboldened, he traced the slightly exposed hip with the tips of his fingers. Malfoy sighed and leant back into the couch again. "You've got a lot thinner," said Harry, quietly.

"Don't."

"Okay." But he did run his fingers over the hipbone again before finishing his work and sealing the wounds. "I am sorry." He swallowed. "I can't take back what I said, but I never meant to… I was just in a temper, I thought you'd used me or something…" Malfoy flinched away from him unconsciously. Harry leaned forwards and kissed the patch he had just healed before laying his cheek against it, his gaze directed to the rug the couch was resting on. "I know I've broken any trust you had in me… I… I understand now why you came straight to tell me what had happened. I was such a bastard, I can't tell you how much I hate myself right now. I can't even remember all the things I said, but I regret all of them." Malfoy shifted slightly against the damp cheek, but didn't move away from him, listening. "And, and you know I would never use you, I never would," Harry continued, croakily, "I felt like I was f-falling for –for you, and then that you'd betrayed me. When we made love…"

Malfoy sob-gasped. Harry sat back on his heels. "When we made love," he continued, shakily, "I was afraid I was letting you in too far, that I was feeling too – like you knew everything about me."

He stood up unsteadily, bracing a hand on the couch. "But now I know what an _idiot_ I was!" he exploded, forcefully. Malfoy simply stared up at him, silently, face wet. "I know you probably hate me right now," Harry said, defeated, "but if you could trust me again, maybe we could try… think about it, please. I'll be here."

* * *

_So Harry has realised that he's what I affectionately would call a wally, or more accurately term a bastard._

_Please review, I hope you enjoyed this part._

_In response to the inquisitive reviewer: I am of the fairer sex, thank you for your enquiry._

_In all gladness, skinnyrita xxxx_


	10. Chapter 10

Thank you for all your charming reviews, I apologise for the late update. However, I hope you all like it as much as I do. Good things come to those readers who wait... after all.

Enjoy.

Disclaimer: Harry Potter: not mine.

* * *

**Slow and Steady Wins the Race.**

(Proverb)

_skinnyrita_

Draco Malfoy sat on the edge of his bed and slowly pulled on his pyjama shirt, lost in a solitary thought. He mused over whether he had punished Harry Potter enough for being, well, quite frankly an arsehole to him, and whether it was time to go back to him again, sucker for punishment that he was. He felt like he was beginning to regain the upper hand on Harry, but then thoughts such as this one would enter his mind again and he would doubt himself once more. It was a mystery to him just how strongly he could crave a certain physical proximity to Harry, and yet at the same time wish himself as far away from the boy wonder as possible. Their stacked egos made it difficult to get close, and the struggle was painful, and was about to begin again, and he knew it would be exhausting, as it was before, but when that closeness was attained… it didn't bear thinking about, being without Potter again.

He wondered what their disappearance had done to the school. Probably let everyone relax, he thought, snorting at his own humour, contemplating his bed. Potter and Malfoy. Always entwined at school, whether for good or ill. And now trapped in this lonely house together, granted all through his own fault. He wondered whether Dumbledore had any inkling of what their relationship had been for the last term and a half. He stood up and took a deep breath. He should go and talk to Harry.

To Potter.

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Harry approached his bedroom door and paused, replaying again mentally what he thought he wanted to say to Malfoy. Since the awkward outpourings (and encouraging kiss too) of that afternoon, he had been tiptoeing around the house like a coward, trying not to give Malfoy any cause to hate him at the moment, and wondering whether he should sit down and say something else to him. The difficulty was, the things he wanted to say could not be put into words very easily. Apart from some polite but unsure words at dinner, where they had both tried to make it appear to Kingsley as though nothing was wrong, he had barely seen Malfoy, much less spoken to him. Snape had arrived in the kitchen as they were clearing the plates, and hauled the Slytherin off to the study to discuss his 'miraculous escape'.

Harry took a deep breath and unlatched the door.

He froze, door half opened. Malfoy was standing on the other side of it, hand poised to tap on it. He lowered it quickly. "Hi."

"Hello," Harry replied, all ideas of what he had wanted to say vanishing. He opened the door and stood back. Malfoy licked his lips nervously and entered. He shut the door with a click behind him. "I…" Harry could not remember what he was going to say. Malfoy moved towards him and took him by the waist. Harry swallowed.

"I've been thinking about what you said," said Malfoy. He leaned down and licked Harry's bottom lip. Harry opened his mouth immediately for the kiss, which though brief, was deep and probing, and left him breathless and giddy. "I propose trying again," said Malfoy, articulately.

Harry gazed at him in happy bewilderment.

Malfoy dipped his head again, caressing his tongue in a curling fashion that Harry remembered as he moaned lightly into the touch and taste, gingerly groping for the blonde's trim sides. Malfoy pulled Harry's t-shirt over his head swiftly, breaking the magical kiss. Harry glanced down and noticed that Malfoy's pyjama shirt had long sleeves. He frowned at it. Malfoy ignored this, engrossed in re-learning the shape of the Gryffindor's chest and the beloved collarbones. Gentle teeth nipped the lightly tan neck, once, then twice.

Harry panted, feeling behind him for the bed. Malfoy took the hint and walked him backwards into it. They fell down with a creak and a bounce. The ancient frame of the Black family's ancestors groaned in exasperation. Malfoy looked down at him, face flushed. His hands were warm and searching.

"Are you sure you want this?" Harry whispered. He wished there could be a time when he wouldn't have to check like this every time he and Malfoy were about to get in any way physical, but this wasn't it, not yet. Not when he had, not so long ago, thrown all of the blonde's intimacy issues back in his beautiful face.

Malfoy's eyes flicked away from him for the briefest second. "If I didn't, I wouldn't be here," he said, hesitantly. Harry reached up to brush the hair from his eyes, but the blond flinched away from him slightly. He lowered the hand to a sharp cheekbone instead, trying to act as though he hadn't noticed, but his stomach scrunched inwards. Malfoy moved away from him again, pulled him so that Harry could be on top instead. Harry almost cried in frustration. He didn't want it to be like this, how could it be like this? Malfoy had looped his hands around his back and was caressing him affectionately, but his touches were at odds with his palpable hesitancy, and Harry hated it. He wanted to give Malfoy what he wanted, but whether that was what he was asking for, was another matter entirely. He ducked his head down to plant a kiss on the base of the blonde's neck before he could see what he was thinking, then allowed Malfoy to pull him into another long kiss as his fumbling fingers fiddled with the buttons on the pyjama shirt.

Malfoy moaned wantonly into his mouth for a second, and Harry felt a wash of desire douse his shaking body. He gasped and pressed himself further into the other boy, remembering. How could he have been such an idiot to send this body packing?

_Who could resist such a willing piece of arse like you?_

Malfoy's hand on his shoulder suddenly stilled Harry's motions. Neither of them had said such a thing, but maybe they had both thought it, and that was enough. Malfoy twisted away from him. Harry watched him with a sort of horror on his face. And a sort of pity, too. And regret. "I'm so- I – I can't," said Malfoy, finally. He pulled the shirt Harry had been about to slip off his shoulders, back around himself.

"I'll go and sleep somewhere else," said Harry, "you stay here, okay? Get some sleep."

"No," Malfoy's hand on his wrist, "no, I'll go, it's your room."

"Malfoy I am not letting you leave like this. Come on, let's get you under the covers." Malfoy allowed him to gently to put him to bed, quietly. Harry clambered off the bed and located his t-shirt again; thinking it best to cover himself up, look a bit less… naked. He turned back briefly. Malfoy was staring at him with a pink face and large eyes.

"Stay here," he said, quietly. Harry regarded him silently, lips pressed together. A tiny furrow appeared between his eyebrows, a tired one. Malfoy sat up and pushed some of the cover back, tentatively. "To sleep." Harry nodded.

He slid back into the bed, awkwardly, unsure whether to touch at all, or whether to erect a sort of barrier of pillows between them. The blond decided for him, trembling hand bunching in his t-shirt again, head nestled gently in the cavity between his chin and armpit. He felt the tension leave both of their hesitant bodies, kissed the top of the blond head softly and rubbed his jaw against the golden thatch soothingly. The hand released the crumpled fabric and long fingers caressed the spot where the now covered collarbones resided – a comfortingly familiar caress.

"I did think I… it's going to take a while."

Harry opened his closing eyes again and stared at the ceiling for a moment. "You don't need to do anything, Malfoy. This is enough."

"That can't be true," said the blond, sceptically.

"Try me," Harry murmured, staving off sleep. When Malfoy didn't reply, he finally succumbed to slumber.

When Draco woke up, it was still dim in the room, and it took him a few moments before he remembered that he was in Harry's bed, and in a lower part of the house without such good morning light. He remembered falling asleep in the Gryffindor's solid arms, cheek against the robust chest, and feeling oddly content, but somehow troubled with the disbelief that Harry would really think that lying about companionably was 'enough' for him after a few days of it. If there was one thing he knew the brunette lacked, it was patience. He was passionate, overwhelmingly so, and physical to the point of distraction. He doubted that he would try to take any sort of advantage of him, he was far too noble, but he might very well get bored and wander away if Draco made him wait too long for any sort of unfettered intimacy. And the Slytherin wasn't sure how he felt about that, apart from nervous. He hoped he was wrong about Harry. It was hard to read the character of someone so unpredictable.

Come to think of it, where was Harry? Draco frowned, stretching, then padded to the bathroom. He took a while sorting himself out and washing his face and neck, accioing his toothbrush from the bathroom on the floor above. Instead of sending it back upstairs, he set it on the side of the sink with Harry's. He looked at them for a minute before returning to the bedroom and poking his head round the door. He grinned and the tension in his chest dissipated like a breath of air.

Harry was sitting cross-legged on the bed, a tray laden with tea and toast set before him, a slice of which was halfway to his mouth. His faintly perplexed expression lifted at the sight of Malfoy's face reappearing in the doorway.

"Hey."

"Hey."

"Didn't want to wake you. Want some brekkie?"

Malfoy gifted Harry with his rare half-smile. Harry beamed back with slight lunacy. "I'll have some breakfast, yes. Do refrain from saying the word 'brekkie' in my presence. Ever again," said Draco, dryly. He smirked, but impishly, as he settled himself back on the bed, facing Harry, his own legs folded beneath him, reaching for a piece of toast and realising that Harry had spread two pieces with marmite, which Harry himself loathed, but Draco was addicted to. The gesture meant something. If only he could figure out what.

Harry watched him eat quietly, a pensive smile on his face. Malfoy gave him a questioning look. "Kingsley's gone to work. We're not to kill each other while he's out. Also Moody's coming at about lunchtime so that he can use the study to do his paperwork."

Draco frowned at his toast. Moody particularly didn't like him.

"You won't have to speak to him, I doubt we'll see him."

Draco took a breath in, and out, but said nothing. Harry sighed and there was silence for a minute. The last time Moody and Draco had been in the same room, Draco had been wearing a mask and Moody's wand had been trained straight at his head. Harry pushed the tray carefully to one side and took the toast out of Draco's hand. It was dangerously close to spreading its topping all over the bedspread. He relinquished his grip on it silently, watching Harry's hand relocate it to the plate, and then take Draco's white hand in his own.

"I doubt he knew it was you."

"That's where you and I disagree. He knew exactly which one I was, Potter. Is this the fabled 'protection' I'm supposed to be getting?" Malfoy replied, bitterly. Harry shuffled onto his knees and drew the blond into him. It was a sappy hug, usually Malfoy wouldn't have allowed it, at least not at this time of the morning, but he did today. He raised his face up to Harry's, asking him to kiss him, which he did. For about a millisecond.

"Argh! _Marmite_!"

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After re-brushing his teeth three times, albeit half-heartedly in contrast to Harry's efforts to rid himself of any traces of marmite, they wandered down to the library carrying their mugs of tea, elbows jolting each other sporadically. Draco leaned in the doorway sipping his lukewarm beverage, watching Harry locate his Charms notes, as Flitwick would be coming by after school hours to do their NEWTS lesson, and he'd set them a lot of homework which neither of them had finished. Harry was rooting under his desk, which compared to Draco's, looked as though a blasting hex had been hurled at it, his green t-shirt (the one Draco secretly preferred on him) riding up a little to reveal a flash of tan skin between the t-shirt hem and the waistband of his baggy jeans. He eyed the small area appreciatively, remembering what it was like to kiss it. One of the less hairy areas of Harry's physique, quite smooth really. At least he didn't have a hairy back, though Draco remembered him being much hairier than himself in most other areas. He wondered whether Harry felt manlier than he did. For being more hairy.

He was digressing.

He set his empty mug on the nearest shelf and settled himself at his own desk, locating his own carefully ordered Charms notes immediately.

'_Subject: Charms. _

_Topic: Sensory Charms._

_Professor Flitwick._

_Self-oriented study: Read pages six through twenty-three of 'NEWT Charms Edition IV' then write a three inch summary on sensory charms. Practice the sensory charms affecting hearing with a partner and record the results in a statistical format (for guidance, refer to the chapter on recording charm outcomes), then repeat the process for sensory charms affecting taste. If you have time you may attempt the more advanced charms pertaining to sense of smell. DO NOT attempt to practice any sensory spells affecting eyesight or touch without a tutor present. _

_Lesson: Revision of sensory charms and discussion of practice, followed by practical experimentation of various NEWT level sensory charms.'_

Draco worried his bottom lip, considering the homework. He glanced up to see whether Harry was doing his work, but in the lapse of attention he'd disappeared again. He sighed and pulled the text towards him, quill poised to start making notes to group into a summary. Five minutes later, a wrapped, but half-eaten, bar of Honeydukes chocolate fell onto his desk. He looked up to see Harry smirking at him.

"What?"

"Sensory charms taste tester."

"I haven't finished my summary yet and I want top marks."

"Spoilsport."

"Go over there and do your own summary, I'll tell you when I've finished," said Draco, bossily, but pleased with himself for not pandering to the Gryffindor. Harry pouted a little childishly at him, and then returned to his desk, leaving the chocolate behind. Draco sucked one side of his cheek contemplatively, and then ate a square. Potter said nothing to him, but he felt the green gaze train on the action and smiled to himself, picking up his quill again and finding his paragraph. He was finished writing his three inches, which he thought were neatly concise, a good deal sooner than Harry, who he'd noticed seemed to read the entire block of text first, then re-read it making notes, then try to find the best bits of notes in order to cobble something together. He was about to say something about it when Harry spoke.

"Can we do the sensory taste charms now? I'm hungry." He was still scribbling on his parchment, head bowed, but he was obviously talking to Draco. The blond glanced at the assignment.

"Hearing charms first. They must be easier otherwise Flitwick wouldn't have written them in. Chocolate comes after."

"You might make me go deaf."

"You might make _me_ go deaf, and then I'd never hear you snoring ever again, but I think it's a chance I'm willing to take," said Draco, briskly. Harry looked up from his summary and stared at him for a second. Draco tried not to blush. "Stand up," he said.

"Hang on, we need another charm to get a reading on our hearing before and after each charm…" Harry began flicking to the section about recording the results of charm experiments. They worked carefully for a while, scared to do anything in a slapdash manner for fear of damaging the other's hearing permanently, but luckily Flitwick seemed to have judged their abilities well, and the charms went off without a hitch. They soon had a comprehensive bank of results and a written analysis (mainly written by Draco).

The taste tests were a lot more fun, and a good deal more chocolate-y. They had just finished writing the analysis when Malfoy turned the taste enhancing charm on Harry again.

"Hey wait, we've run out of chocolate…"

"Cast it on me."

"_Trevellius_… what-?" Malfoy leaned forwards and kissed him. "Oh."

"I knew it, I knew you'd taste good," he smirked dangerously. Harry groaned blissfully as Malfoy deepened the kiss. He felt a little as though Malfoy was being cruel, dangling something so tantalisingly in front of him, something he couldn't fully have, but maybe it was a test, and if it was, he planned to pass with flying colours. Their tongues slid over each other in a searching caress, and with the charm on him he could taste every last vestige of the chocolate in Malfoy's mouth, and a tiny trace of all the toothpaste he's made him practically gargle with to get rid of the last of the marmite (luckily he couldn't taste any of that), and the overwhelmingly familiar taste that was Malfoy's saliva. The thought should have turned him off a bit, but it didn't, it merely made him want to taste more, until he was practically lapping the corners of the blonde's mouth, and he was doing the same. It was a very primal, needy experience.

Malfoy broke the kiss when the need for air proved too much for them, and attached himself instead to Harry's neck. "Fuck, you taste _incredible_," he murmured, licking under his jaw. Harry tried to get a grip back on himself, practically pressed back onto his desk. Malfoy seemed to be more heavily affected by the sensory enhancing charms than he was, in fact his had nearly worn off now, whereas the one he'd cast on Malfoy was practically driving the other boy to distraction. "Oh _God_, do you want to try out the ones for touch?"

Harry pushed the blond off him, regretfully, and looked at him carefully. He'd cast too strong a charm on the other boy, he knew, and this was the perfect opportunity to end up taking advantage if he wasn't careful. He wasn't going to let that happen. "I think we should wait for Flitwick before we try any of the others," he said, gently. Malfoy gazed at him, panting lightly with sensation, before capturing his lips again. Harry kissed him softly, but refused to let him deepen the kiss. Malfoy pulled away again with a moue of uncertainty on his face, all eyes for him. Harry shook his head firmly, "I meant everything I said last night," he said, resolutely, "I _refuse_ to take advantage of you. I'm going down to make us lunch; Moody will be here soon. Don't come down until you think the charm's worn off."

Malfoy appeared in the kitchen twenty minutes later looking as though he'd been crying. Harry's stomach clenched, and he went to him straight away. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have cast it on you."

"It was my idea."

"That's no excuse."

Malfoy frowned at him. "Yes it is. It was my idea and if you'd been anyone else you would have cast the touch enhancing charm too when I asked for it, and fucked me right through the fucking desk when you know I would have asked for that too. Don't _patronize_ me, Potter, it doesn't become you or me. I thought those charms would help me get all… intimate, and they did and it felt fucking amazing, but you're too fucking noble to do anything about that because we're tiptoeing around each other like we're terrified to do anything wrong, and that's the truth!"

"Stop swearing at me when I haven't done anything!" Harry exclaimed angrily, pinning the Slytherin into the doorjamb. He reached up and kissed him painfully, passionately. They broke apart almost immediately. Malfoy glared redly at him, humiliated. "You're right, I am terrified of doing anything wrong, of _touching_ you wrong," said Harry, desperate tears forming behind his lopsided glasses. "I might be many things Malfoy, but I am not a bloody rapist. You can't even imagine how much I want you, how _beautiful_ and _perfect_ you are, you never see it; it's _bizarre_ to me how little you think of yourself. It's torture not being close to you!" he was crying, and it was intensely embarrassing. Malfoy was still glaring at him. "Don't dangle yourself in front of me like it's some sort of test, Malfoy! I've told you I'm sorry for the things I said, what more do you want? I'll lie next to you and do nothing about it every night, I have _that much resolve_ for this, just don't make me play these stupid little games, I hate them and they do you no favours either." He paused, panting.

"You're hurting me," said Malfoy minutely, glancing down at Harry's hands on his arms. They were so rigid that the knuckles were white. Harry released him, forehead creased so tightly that it must be painful.

"I need to go upstairs or somewhere. Lunch is on the counter. Let me know when Flitwick gets here."

"Aren't you going to eat?"

"Not hungry."

888

"Hello."

"Hi."

Malfoy fiddled with the sleeve of his robe. "Flitwick's here. He's getting set up in the dining room." He cast a look of regret at the Gryffindor who was in the middle of doing some maintenance on his broom, a pair of brush-tail clippers in one hand. "Still pissed at me?" Harry sighed quietly and shook his head, but his expression remained sober. "You know we're both way too high maintenance for all this," Draco continued, lightening his tone a little, "with all the emo angst, it's a wonder we haven't killed each other."

Harry quirked a sort-of-smile, "you know Hermione referred to me as an emo too, maybe I should be worried."

Malfoy chuckled, leaned against the doorframe. "Can we relax again?"

"Hope so. You know Malfoy, I really meant it. This is nothing about sex. I want to be with you, and if you let me make love to you again, at any point in the future, near or far, then that's something different. I'm happy just being close with you, I wouldn't ask you for anything else, not when I know how you feel about it sometimes."

"You really believe that, don't you?"

"I don't just believe it, I mean it. Now it's just us here, mainly, we've got a chance to make a go of it, you know?"

"I know," Malfoy replied, softly, still with a slight air of disbelief. Mainly one of hope.

Later that night, they lay entwined, shirtless, in Harry's bed, skin touching for the first time since before Christmas. Harry was careful, hands only caressing his partner's biceps before looping round his back, loose enough for him to easily disentangle himself if necessary, fingers tracing nowhere near the glittering Dark Mark, which he had given no attention to, although he had naturally thought of it, as Malfoy seemed to view this area as strictly taboo, the source of all shame, and so he was careful not to draw attention to its existence. Malfoy's fingers found their hold on his collarbone, and they breathed in tandem once more. He felt different this time. Hopefully the new understanding would hold up better than the last.

888

Nearly a month passed and the house began to fill up more frequently with Order members; Voldemort was on the move again. Draco was summoned a couple of times, though as far as the Dark Lord was concerned, Snape had given intelligence that the Malfoy boy was still at Hogwarts, and so his summonings were very infrequent. Harry spent each night when Malfoy was not in the house in a state of solitary nervous collapse, staring blankly, red-eyed, at his NEWTS revision notes, until the tale-tale quiet _click_ of his bedroom door behind him alerted him to the fact that Draco had come back. He was terrified of the thought that Draco might die and leave him on his own. The thought plagued his waking and sleeping thoughts, and often he was awoken by a concerned pale face hovering over him, telling him to wake up, "you're having a nightmare Potter, come on, come on wake up, I'm here…" he never told Malfoy what the dreams were about.

With the influx of odd houseguests, he didn't get to sleep with Malfoy very often, certainly not every night. Keeping their 'relationship' a secret was vital because there was no way they'd be allowed in the same house alone together whilst under school protection if they were seen to be anything like as intimate as they were. Which granted wasn't that intimate at the moment, but it was enough not to be allowed by any stretch. Harry sometimes felt bad for lying to the Order and his professors, particularly Dumbledore, but he didn't want to be apart from Malfoy again, not when they were both trying so hard, and doing so much better.

There was a gentle click and a low flicker of wand light cast a gentle glow into the room. Harry smiled and turned over as the door creaked gently shut and someone whispered a quiet locking charm. The wand beam fell across the bed.

"I knew you wouldn't be asleep yet," Malfoy whispered. He slid into bed and muttered, "nox." This was another of their unwritten, unsaid agreements. Malfoy always came to Harry, not the other way round. It was easier that way, and helped Harry understand how intimate the Slytherin wanted to be, if at all. He was still at a loss to know exactly why Malfoy found intimate moments so difficult, but it didn't bother him quite as much now that he'd started to relax and just go with it. And he had been right in his own estimation: being close to the Slytherin was more than enough to satisfy him, and more than he deserved too, probably.

"Can you see me?"

"You're like a black blurry outline right now. Why, can you see me?"

"I haven't got my glasses on, I can't see anything in the dark." His hand brushed Malfoy's stomach by mistake. He heard the sharp intake of breath, quickly quelled. "Sorry," he muttered, quickly.

"S'okay," Draco breathed. He traced the curve of Harry's neck, could just about make out the outline as his eyes adjusted in the dark. Sought the ridge below. Heard Harry make the noise, the soft half-gasp. He kissed him somewhere about his chin. It was slightly stubbly already; he'd only shaved that morning. "Mmm, you always make that noise."

"Make what noise?"

He touched his cool lips to the base of Harry's hot neck, and then grinned triumphantly. "That noise. That 'mpfh-ha!' –how I know I've got the right spot."

"Well you always touch me on the collarbone first," Harry whispered.

"Do I?" He traced them again, feeling. "I like them, they're nice."

Harry laughed a little breathlessly. "What if I got really fat and you couldn't see them anymore?"

"They'd still be there," said Malfoy. Harry noted that the fact that Malfoy would still be there to touch his collarbones if he got really fat was the material point.

"And your toes curl when I touch your scar," Malfoy whispered.

"You always used to open your eyes when-" Harry stopped talking and shut his mouth quickly. He was getting carried away in the unexpected sensuality of the night.

"What?" Malfoy was breathless and it was making Harry feel giddy. His soft lips covered Harry's for a moment, almost breathing into him, the way they kissed them they knew they had to be really quiet, because you couldn't cast silencing charms on the rooms in Grimmauld Place in case they set off the wards. Sometimes kissing could be surprisingly noisy business. Maybe it was best that they hadn't been getting in any way more physical… Harry hadn't been paying attention and now Malfoy was almost on top of him, one of his hands was entwined with his gently, the other was bracing him on the bed, the way he was breathing, so soft but ragged, _shit_… "I always used to open my eyes when I… what?"

Harry breathed frantically. Malfoy was too close. His skin felt cool against Harry's own burning limbs, his ribcage was aching… this was too cruel, stop it, _stop_ it… "When you… when…" there wasn't enough air suddenly. He gripped whatever he was holding a little tighter. Malfoy's hand.

"When I _what_?" speaking almost into his mouth.

"When you _came_!" Harry blurted. For a second he thought Malfoy would tear himself off him and go back to his own bed. The last time either of them had given the other that kind of release was their last night together before Christmas, and it had been more than two months since then.

But he didn't tear himself away.

Lowered his panting mouth to Harry's and plundered it savagely, leaving him even more breathless, if that was possible. His hand slipped out of Harry's and onto his stomach, which already glistened with sweat, the sparse black hairs wilting from the heat of the bedding and the other boy on top of him. Harry turned his head away, panting, trembling, skin like liquid wax, dripping down his body, pooling at his groin… "Please, stop, you're being cruel."

"No," Malfoy turned his head back. They stared at each other in the dark. Harry could just about make out Malfoy's eyes glinting at him, but apart from that he was almost blind. His throat was dry with want, and he swallowed in an attempt to wet it with some saliva, which he seemed in desperate need of. Malfoy was looking down at him; Harry knew he must have felt how hard the Gryffindor was for him. It wasn't fair to torture him like this – he could put up with a lot, but Jesus, he wasn't a bloody saint. He could hear Malfoy's laboured breathing above him, feel it on his neck. The hand was still flat on his stomach. It was too much. "I want you to make me come, Harry." Harry inhaled sharply but didn't reply. Malfoy licked his lips. Harry heard it. Felt it. "I want you to touch me. I want it tonight."

Harry was shaking. He hadn't known how much he wanted the Slytherin to let him pleasure him again until he'd got the command. He slipped a leg between the blonde's and turned them so that he was half on top, so that Malfoy wouldn't feel trapped. He wouldn't do too much, not tonight, just enough. Certainly wouldn't be making love to him. Not right now. He felt Malfoy's arousal against the top if his hip and knew that he wouldn't touch that, either. The desire, the need, it was palpable, but so was the magnitude that he had to do this right.

He laid a quivering hand flat on one of Malfoy's burning pectorals. He was startled by how hot the Slytherin's skin was; it was usually pale and cool to touch. He lowered himself onto the other boy a little more certainly, slotting their legs together, bringing their chests closer. They were both wearing pyjama pants, but Malfoy's naked torso, that was enough for him, he felt like how he remembered, smooth and perfect, not hairy like Harry. He pressed his lips to the base of the white neck, nuzzled the Adam's apple gently with his nose, fingers below tracing tentative patterns with the tips of their fingernails. He heard Malfoy moan not so softly, felt him tremble. He pulled himself up to capture the blonde's lips in a slow kiss, quietening them both. His heart was hammering in his throat.

He found the bud of a nipple and caressed it lightly. Malfoy gasped hotly into his mouth, and they broke for air, briefly. "Oh… yes…" it was whispered, but he heard and felt it right through him, his thumb swept the nipple again, worried it. He thought they might both be close. Malfoy arched up, kissed him briefly. "Use your mouth…oh God, _please_…"

Oh the sound of that wicked mouth pleading in bed… he bit the nipple gently, licked it. Malfoy was making quiet, gasping, panting noises, the sounds of someone biting their lip in desperation to keep quiet, "Harry… Harry I… I'm c-close…" he removed his mouth, rubbing his fingers over the area instead, teasing, reclaimed the blonde's mouth. Pulled away just at the last moment, to see the Slytherin's eyes fly open. Harry shuddered once and collapsed onto him, brushed the sweaty fringe from his forehead for him. Malfoy hadn't even had to touch him.

* * *

Do review, it's lovely of you.

skinnyrita xxxxxxx

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	11. Chapter 11

Hello all, I've been beavering away trying to get this chapter written and to a good standard too, as requested as a fast update by Live, I hope it got to you on time, I sympathise, my term is also about to start and have I done any work? Nope, been writing fanfiction. Whoops. All your fault. You'll be pleased to know (well, hopefully,) that I have already started writing chapter 12, and I plan to have posted it before uni recommences.

Enjoy!

Disclaimer: HP Not Mine. Sad Face. :-(

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"**Closer and Closer, the Pieces Edge Nearer…"**

_(Poetry of Chess)_

skinnyrita

The fogged windows were flung open, nearly-white curtains ribboning in the cold breeze, trying to expel the mists enveloping the steamy room. Harry tucked the towel around his waist more securely and reached for his glasses, breathing on each lens slightly before giving them a quick wipe with a square of toilet roll to clear them. He stared at his reflection in the filmy mirror. He needed to get back on the pitch, or construct some sort of regime for himself; the little ridge of fat beginning to dissolve his trim stomach was growing daily under the inactivity of Grimmauld Place, and although he doubted a little flab would put Malfoy off looking at him, he had to maintain his own sense of self preservation. He could definitely pinch an inch in some places, and more. His chest hair had gone a bit scraggy in the shower too, that couldn't be attractive… maybe, he snorted to himself, maybe he should go into muggle London and get a 'back, sac and crack' wax. Substitute back wax for a chest one.

"Good morning."

Harry jumped, razor about to go to his chin. He hadn't heard the door unlock. Malfoy's long fingered hands laced around his torso and the glinting eyes caught his in the mirror. Harry smirked impishly, pleased to see him, though unexpectedly. "I was going to shave," he informed him, mock-scolding.

"Well don't let me distract you." Malfoy rubbed the fingers of one hand over the furred chest, smoothing it like a cat. Harry breathed steadily and raised the razor to his throat again, carefully, trying not to jolt in response to Malfoy's hands, and the playful eyes in the mirror. A few nipping kisses landed on his shoulder. He concentrated harder. A wandering finger slipping under the towel to touch a hipbone. The razor jarred.

"Ah-!" A small cut.

"Tut, careful." A touch of Malfoy's finger, the jolt of magic in and out, and the small laceration was gone. A simple caress and the touch of soft lips to the back of his neck. Harry shivered and applied the razor again. He felt very naked under his towel.

He finished shaving and set the razor carefully down on the side of the sink, splashing cold water on his face and reaching for the hand towel to pat off the errant droplets. Turned in Malfoy's arms. Malfoy was dressed and he was not. A hand caressed the newly smooth jaw line, the other travelling on his ribcage as he was kissed. He hesitated momentarily before threading his fingers lightly in the silky blond hair. Moaned despite himself, when Malfoy deepened the kiss, the hand on his jaw dropping to his collarbone, the other grasping him suddenly, a little more urgently. They parted for breath.

Harry took the opportunity to disengage his hands and aright his glasses, which as usual had got skewed. Malfoy was studying his body, looking down at it. Harry stood quite still, suspended. The towel ended up on the floor, pooling by his ankles. Malfoy's lips parted slightly, staring at his body, and still Harry stood quite still. They had not looked at each other fully naked for months. Pale hands rested on his hips again, pleased. Malfoy's face tilted towards his again, pulled his nakedness flush against his clothed body, and caressed his buttocks and lower back as lips took his throat and then his lips. He gasped into them, trembling.

Malfoy was smiling; he seemed glad that he was taking this hurdle again. Harry flashed his own open grin, a carelessly carefree expression that was happy Harry's prime look, and was rarely seen by any, but had been seen an awful lot recently by one lucky Slytherin. "Harry, can I touch you?"

A whisper in return: "Whatever you want."

Pale hands on him. He gasped and leaned against the sink, eyes lightly shut. A man starved of touch, finally gulping down sensation again. He wasn't going to last very long, but who cared? "Oh God, Malfoy…"

"Ssh, I'm going to make you feel good. You're beautiful…" and good things come to those who wait. Malfoy's hand stroking him, amazing, lips on his neck, just in the right spot for the blond to hear the habitual 'mpfh-ha!' sweetly gasping noise, and then teeth on his collarbone, gently, and lower. He felt as though the blond was feasting on him, as though desire had come rushing back. He wondered what had changed, but hoped he was the cause. Heard the low murmurs, "so beautiful…" somewhere near his navel. Felt a hot mouth close on him.

"Oh!" snapped his eyes open to watch. Malfoy had never gone down on him before. There were times before the Christmas Incident when he had thought he might, but he had skirted it. Now it was happening, and it felt a bit weird, but a good weird, a bloody fantastic, hot and gooey sort of weird. It was almost as if he were two people, one side of him watching the blonde's ministrations and feasting on the beauty of the moment, and the other side overcome with a fierce, hot desire, a shuddering pleasure building higher and higher inside of him…extinguishing any other sense around him… "Draco, I'm-" knees buckling, hands grasping the edges of the sink behind. Malfoy stood up, wiped his mouth quickly with the back of his hand but was pleased. Wondered whether Harry realised he had called out his first name, as he'd come. Cuddled the shaking naked body to his own clothed one instead of ask about it. Felt a sense of achievement. And something else, something that had been missing.

Harry's melted mind began piecing itself back together again. He sort of wished that what had just happened had taken place in a bed, but that couldn't really be helped, and the experience had been more than satisfactory; to tell the truth, it had been amazing despite being so wholly unexpected. Maybe it had been so amazing for the fact that it was so unexpected. He leaned back and scrutinised Malfoy's face carefully, a slightly serious expression though that of ease, a carefully measured expression so that there was no way he would frighten Malfoy away.

"Has something changed?"

Malfoy graced him with his sort of half-smiling expression. "Heard the shower running, knew it was you and just sort of thought I'd remind myself what I… I don't know." But was still looking at him, and that was encouraging in itself. Caressed his still naked sides in a rotating fashion that spoke volumes of familiarity and trust.

Harry had regained control of his own legs and other appendages now and was wondering whether he should put some clothes on, but he didn't want to move out of Malfoy's grasp while he still wanted to hold him, especially in this manner. So he waited. Malfoy sighed and looked him up and down again in an endearing way.

"Do you remember when we had that fight in the quidditch changing room, after a practice. In fifth year I think."

"Sort of," Harry replied. He frowned, he didn't really like it when Malfoy brought up their past.

"Hooch came in and broke it up, made us all go for showers. I still had my eye on you…"

"Pervert," Harry smirked playfully, carded his fingers in Malfoy's lovely hair.

Didn't mind so much that he was still naked, though he wondered where the story was going to lead.

"I think I was still pissed at you, even though we both only got off with having to sort out the brooms. I… sort of started looking at you I suppose, and I felt really angry about it. I didn't know I was gay then, I was really confused and I couldn't think of a way to blame you…" while Malfoy was talking, Harry wasn't sure what to think. The Slytherin had never talked to him about his own… sexual epiphany. Harry had sort of always thought that he might be gay. There were so many other weird things about him that when he finally decided on an 'orientation' he'd not really had that much of an issue accepting this new side of himself, but Malfoy… actually, did he have to be naked for this conversation?

"Let me just slip something on," he muttered, breaking the embrace, even though he didn't want to. He shucked on the pair of clean boxers hanging on the back of the door, quickly, and immediately replaced his arms around the blond. Stuck his nose into the soft locks and said, "Sorry, go on. Please."

"Come across the hall instead." Malfoy peered round the door, saw that none of the Order members were about, and tugged him gently across the hall to Harry's bedroom. Locked the door.

"Shall I get dressed?" A nod. Malfoy settled himself on Harry's untidy bed. They hadn't slept together that night. Harry had been plagued by nightmares, but he couldn't remember right now what any of them had been about. "Keep talking," he nudged, casting back over his shoulder briefly as he rummaged for a shirt and jeans that didn't look too tatty.

"My parents. I don't know if they know or not. If they do, I didn't tell them. I tried to; sort of… it's not… _normal_. I think they don't even really understand it. Being gay. They'd understand me not wanting to be with girls, I think. But not that I prefer men instead." Harry turned swiftly at the small unsure voice. Malfoy was crumpling the sheets with his clenched hands. He crossed the room in three strides and flopped down beside the blond, pulled him to him without question. Didn't even think to analyse it. "Say something silly. Now."

"…Did I turn you gay then?" Harry asked, cheekily, turning his head to crack a grin at Malfoy. His pale face flooded with colour immediately. "Couldn't resist my sexy shower ways…still can't…"

"Oy," Malfoy shoved him. Tension broken. Ten points to Gryffindor. "Not everything is about you, Potter."

Harry laughed, "God I hope not."

"Prat."

"Pervert." They giggled noisily, then stilled briefly at the distant sound of footsteps on the floor above. Harry released a pensive sigh, planting an unconscious kiss on the crown of the regal head. Wrapped the other boy more securely within the little cocoon of limbs. "You know this morning was amazing. Thank you."

"It was only a blowjob, don't get all sentimental on me."

"My first, actually."

"Is that true?"

"Mmm-hmm." They rested in a companionable silence for a while. Harry traced small circles on Malfoy's wrist softly, feeling the lovely pearly skin, and thin hairs with his fingertips. "I could go back to sleep like this. I wish it was just us here."

"We can't. In fact we're late… I've got Vector coming to tutor me in some Arithmancy later."

"Urgh yes, I remember. I have Divination with Trelawney. Yuck. I'd better make up some horrible predictions, she has an affinity for them."

"Useless subject."

"Hmm, yeah I know," Harry groaned in agreement, "wish I hadn't taken it now. Not that it matters, we're probably going to fail our NEWTS anyway, at the rate we're going."

"Speak for yourself, I study very hard!"

"Yeah, you're a regular Hermione." Harry snorted.

"Hey!" they grappled playfully for a moment, making 'sshhh!' noises at each other, the blond muttering 'speccy bastard,' until Malfoy had Harry pinned, breaking his open smile with a kiss that deepened immediately and lasted until they ran out of air and felt giddy. Harry gazed up at the blond in happy distraction for a moment, hoping and wondering whether he had been the blonde's first male attraction, and knowing that Malfoy would never tell him. His lips were captured again, softly, and they kissed for a good ten minutes more, light and undemanding, noses nudging gently, Harry enjoying the welcome weight of Malfoy on top of him, warm and familiar.

888

Divination passed, then Transfiguration, more Potions, Defence Against the Dark Arts, thankfully taught to them by Lupin, who had more free time and was practically living at Number 12 for the moment anyway… Harry felt as though his time was divided between study and Malfoy, which was exhausting in equal terms. He still had a horrible sinking feeling whenever he sat down to mull it over, that he might fail his NEWTS, and had never wished so much that he could get back in a proper classroom. On the other hand, things with Malfoy were going so well that he didn't want to leave.

It didn't matter that they still weren't lying naked together, that Malfoy still didn't seem to manage it, but generally they were so much more relaxed, comfortable. He felt comfortable enough to slip his arms round the blond without having to worry about being wriggled away from, for example, or plant casual kisses, or direct sunny smiles, without having to wonder whether he was being glib. He felt like Malfoy was his 'boyfriend', whatever that meant, and it was a pleasant feeling that made him feel all sort of squishy inside when he thought about it.

Felt that even though they weren't making love, they were together in many more ways than they ever had before.

"Could you help, please?"

"I am helping," Malfoy replied, leaning back in his chair and crossing his legs at the ankle. Harry turned round and looked at him, mock-angry.

"If you helped me, we could be eating lunch right now."

"Finish lunch, and we'll have to sit with everyone else. Besides, you know I don't cook."

Harry tutted, returning his attention to the stove, where a huge vat of spaghetti Bolognese was simmering, ready to feed the fourteen Order members, aurors, and various tag-alongs that had attached themselves to the house today. Plus himself and Malfoy, who was understandably more easy hidden down here on their own, as he'd been on the receiving end of mistrustful glances and not-so-subtle comments whenever he had come into contact with these extra house-guests. He had sliced up a couple of French-sticks without much grumbling, but seemed to have reached the end of his domestic uses, at least in the kitchen. A pair of hands appearing on his waist surprised him. Malfoy set his chin on Harry's shoulder.

"I could make some tea…"

Harry released a happy sigh and turned his head to plant a vague kiss on his face, sort of splotchily on his cheek. "Thanks." Malfoy moved away from him and started putting things together, though he was using magic to do all but the very basics. Harry leaned against the stove and watched him, stirring the lunch idly. A gentle smile had crept onto his face and wouldn't leave. Warm eyes danced. He felt light inside. He hadn't succumbed to his recurring, habitual depression, in a long time. Hadn't thought of it either.

"Here," Malfoy handed him a steaming mug. He set it down on the counter beside him and transferred the spaghetti into a magically enlarged serving dish, levitating it over to the table because it was so heavy, and spelling the cutlery drawer to fly open and start setting out the forks and spoons. A casual wand flick set the new dinner gong going; an idea of Lupin's as it was difficult to go about rounding everyone up when there were so many people flitting in and out all the time. On the floor above, Sirius' mother's portrait began to wail. He turned back to locate the tea, and found his lips captured in a spontaneous kiss. His lips curved in happy surprise as he leaned into the embrace momentarily, hand finding Malfoy's. Distant footsteps came closer and they parted regretfully. Harry caressed the blonde's arm once more in a steadying fashion before drawing away, trying to arrange his features back into a more 'appropriate' outward expression. "What was that for?" Malfoy shook his head and went to take his seat.

Harry picked up his tea again.

He wondered, as the room began to fill up with ravenous people, some of whom he didn't really know, but was greeted by nevertheless, what Malfoy was thinking. Of the fourteen guests, Lupin was the only one to give the Slytherin a due greeting, and kindly engage him in a bit of conversation, taking a place next to him at once. Harry watched them thoughtfully, half paying attention to whatever Moody and the auror next to him were talking about. He wondered whether his presence was enough to stop Malfoy feeling alone.

888

"Hey." It was Easter weekend, Good Friday to be exact, and Harry felt as though he'd been living at Number 12 for years. He looked up from his Potions essay quickly, to behold a lanky, red-haired boy loitering in the doorway. Ron peered into the library nosily, "where's Malfoy?"

Harry stared back down at his paper, couldn't remember what he'd been about to write. "He was summoned… five days ago. Not back yet," he informed him, haltingly. Cleared his throat and laid the quill down carefully before bunching his hands into fists, shaking the heat away that had begun building behind his eyes again. Casting about for something else, he asked, "Where's Hermione?"

Ron loped into the room and threw himself haphazardly in the direction of a chair. It groaned as he dropped his weight into it. Harry picked a thread on his t-shirt, avoiding his best friend's concerned gaze. "Down in the kitchen talking to Lupin about grade boundaries or something. I see you've been getting your work done. You'll be her favourite person." Harry's lip twitched in response. "You alright, mate?"

"Not today," said Harry, truthfully. He was never very handy when it came to keeping things from Ron, so he didn't try. "Thought you might be him back."

"Ah, sorry," Ron scratched the back of his neck thoughtfully, brow creased up. They were all going to wrinkle prematurely. "Things going alright with you two then? You, er… sleeping together and stuff?" he asked, awkwardly. Better to get that kind of thing out of the way quickly than ask probing questions later, or find out in a less than ideal manner.

Harry reached over and put a blotting sheet over his half-done essay. "We're not shagging, if that's what you mean. But yeah, we're sleeping together. Sometimes. It's sort of been taking a while. Um, …thank you."

"Nothing I've done mate."

Harry got up and pulled him into a brief one-armed hug. Ron thumped him on the back. "How long are you here for?"

They trudged companionably down to the living room, where various Order members had been bagging the sofa on and off for the past fortnight, but now was mercifully empty save for more permanent residents. Right now it was empty. "Chess?" Ron pulled the old chess table towards them, even though the pieces belonging to the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black were notoriously stubborn. They began setting out. "Just the weekend; we have to be back at school by the end of Easter Monday," said Ron, in answer to Harry's question. He nudged a pawn forward in the traditional opening move.

"I might be going back myself." Harry scratched his ear. He was no great shakes at chess. "McGonagall said from the beginning that she was hoping we –well, me, -would go back after Easter when they'd had a chance to work out what to do with Malfoy. She came by yesterday and said I should pack up again just in case. I think she wants me back in school until the exams are over."

"Does he know?"

Harry frowned, "He's not been here."

"But you'll tell him though."

"Of course! I'm -" but whatever Harry was, Ron never found out, because at that moment a bushy-haired girl burst in the door and launched herself at his bespectacled best friend.

"Oh Harry, I'm so glad to see you finally! What have you been up to? Are you okay? Have you been doing all your work properly? And what about you and Malfoy?"

Harry spent the rest of the afternoon giving Hermione the answers to all of these questions and more, and by the time evening had started creeping in, he felt a lot lighter than he had for the past five days. He was so wrapped up in having his two friends back with him again, that he almost forgot about worrying for the Slytherin.

Almost.

There were voices in the hallway outside. Hermione was reading a book with her legs slung over Ron's lap while he and Harry concentrated on the chessboard. Harry sat up straight, quickly, eyes fixed on the door, shoulders tight and arms tense. Ron and Hermione glanced at each other, then at the door. "… not telling me something here," they heard a voice saying. Lupin's, maybe. Harry stood up, not breathing. Or maybe breathing too fast. Funny how he felt like there was no oxygen in the room when he encountered feelings like these. Jumped out of his skin when the door flung open suddenly.

Malfoy stood in the doorway, ashen-faced, and saw Harry first, then registered the two other Gryffindors, bane and unexpected saviours, of his life, sitting on the sofa.

"Granger, Weasley," he said. What else was there to say, he couldn't think right now. Hermione managed a "Hello, Malfoy," a cordial greeting, in return. He ignored her unintentionally; he was still looking at Harry. Weasley saying something about the kitchen and going to make some tea. It wasn't until the door shut behind him that he realised they were alone.

Harry walked towards him, cautiously, as though five days, six now, would have done something irrevocable to the blond. He met him halfway, touched his cold hand first, lacing the fingers quickly, instinctively, before he was pulled into a forceful, bone-crushing hug. He released the breath he didn't know he was holding, and heard Harry do the same. Stuck his nose into the messy black hair, dropping his head down so that Harry's nose was at the curve of his own neck, and his own cheek rested on the brunette's temple in a pain-relieving manner. Harry's glasses were in his way but they didn't matter to him much.

A few crushing moments, and then the arms enveloping him loosened somewhat. Harry choked quietly. He made a soft 'shush'-like noise and planted a kiss on the nuzzled temple, then moved to the lips. They connected desperately, unable to calm. Tasted Harry's salty tears, and his own. Eventually they ended up clung together, all sweaty hands and stilted breathing, foreheads rested together. Harry leaned forwards a little, nuzzled his nose. "God, don't ever do that to me again. I was so… I was _so scared_!"

"S'alright," Malfoy planted a brief kiss on his lips again and pulled him close again, trembling, "it's okay. It's okay."

"I thought you were _dead_," Harry whispered forcefully. He felt Malfoy flinch.

"Well I'm not," he asserted, croakily, swallowing. Snot, salt-water and saliva cascaded down his throat. He steadied himself. "I'll always come back, always. I promise you."

"Don't promise."

"I _PROMISE_!" a ragged breath. Glared at Harry in the eyes. "I will always, _always_ come back to you." Harry burst into fresh tears. Malfoy leaned forwards and kissed him again. He didn't mind that Harry was snotty and teary, so was he. He felt the shaking body against his and deepened the kiss, claming. Eventually they calmed down. They had been making too much noise, and the door wasn't that thick. He hoped that Weasley and Granger had had the sense to stall Lupin, and anyone else prowling about, in the kitchen.

"Let me look at you," Harry was saying, scrutinising him carefully.

"I'm fine."

"I'll be the judge of that," Harry raised an eyebrow at him before releasing a relieved laugh, a breathless exhalation of 'thank God' expressed in one wordless burst of sound. He smiled sunnily, if a little tearily (if both could happen at once) at Malfoy and kissed him again, softly this time. Breaking apart they laughed quietly again, for no other reason than that they had to, and Harry's hands came up to tidy Malfoy's hair for him.

Malfoy looked at him, patiently still while the other boy's hands and eyes were on his hair. "I want it to be tonight." Harry stilled and looked at him. Malfoy kissed him on the cheek. "Unless you don't want to. Obviously."

"You have no idea how much I want to," Harry spoke softly, regarded him steadily. "Don't do this because you feel you have to, will you? You know I'd wait forever," he was sincere.

Malfoy laughed. "Come on, daft Gryffindor," he said, secretly moved, tugging Harry to the exit before releasing his hand, "that tea'll be stone cold."

888

The distantly muted noises of nocturnal animals scratching about outside the house, the general ancient creaking and the low sighs of portraits and books were the only sounds that could be heard under the roof of Number 12, Grimmauld Place. Hermione had her nose stuck to 'Awfully Advanced Arithmancy: NEWT Edition,' and Harry and Ron were back before the chess game, both staring intently at the board, Ron wondering how he hadn't managed to get Harry in check yet, and Harry keeping a close eye on his last knight. Malfoy sat at a desk, the scratch of his quill on his parchment and the occasional clink-drip sound of refilling the nib from his ink-pot the only sounds of his studying, as he wrote steadily, his own Arithmancy book open on a desk-lectern in front of him. Lupin had gone to bed a good half an hour ago, and as far as they could tell there was no one else about tonight, though they were half expected to be invaded by the Weasley clan by Sunday, Easter eggs at the ready.

Harry raised an eyebrow and nudged his precious knight forwards. "Check," he said, satisfied, breaking the silence. Hermione glanced up in surprise. Malfoy's quill stopped scratching.

"What? Where?" Ron glared at the board indignantly. A few tense seconds passed, then he burst out laughing. "Oh – Harry, you twat." He swiped the knight. Malfoy snorted. Harry scowled and folded his arms.

"Fine, I give up then."

"Ah," Ron wiped his eyes, looked at Harry and started laughing again. When he had controlled himself, he said, "sorry." A snort, and off he went again. Harry got up and stalked over to the empty fireplace. He started rearranging the candles on the mantle, petulantly. "Come on Harry. Oh fine. Malfoy, care to pick up the side?"

"I think I'll save my dignity to be crushed another time," Malfoy replied, sagely. Ron blinked at the compliment. Malfoy cleared his throat quietly and glanced at Harry. "I think I might go up…" he took a short breath and reminded himself that the Gryffindor golden couple already knew about him and Harry. "Are you coming?"

Harry glanced briefly at Ron and Hermione. Ron had turned the board and was looking at Harry's side. Hermione had disappeared behind the book again. "Yeah," he walked over and took Malfoy by the hand. The blond glanced down at it, pleased. "Night guys."

"Night," said Ron, distractedly. He moved Harry's rook and eliminated one of the white bishops.

"Night Harry," Hermione laid her book to one side, "goodnight, Malfoy."

The door closed and there was silence in the room for a while. Hermione budged over and took Harry's seat at the side of the chess-table. After a moment, she leaned over and gave Ron a soft peck on the lips.

He grinned at her, "what's that for, beautiful?"

She gave him a wise look.

"You're a very good friend, Ronald Weasley. That's why."

* * *

And so he is. I love Ron, a very under-appreciated character I think. He's like the Samwise to Harry's Frodo, in a way, the Robin to his Batman, the Harper to his Sharpe... etc, you know what I mean.

Please do take a minute to review, it's lovely of you.

skinnyrita xxx


	12. Chapter 12

**Okay, got it in before uni re-starts on Monday, phew! But don't worry, I gave it my all, no rushing! I hope you all enjoy this installment...**

**Disclaimer: oh lordy, not this again: okay, Harry Potter is a speccy, awkward, teenage boy. If I owned any part of him, trust me, I'd return him.**

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* * *

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**Revelations**

_skinnyrita_

Harry led Malfoy into his bedroom and shut the door, locked it. The blond let go of his hand and walked over to the window, staring out at the midnight blue sky, sprinkled with a spattering of winking stars. Harry watched him silently, waiting. He didn't want to make the Slytherin go through with this unless he was absolutely certain, and though he was ninety-percent sure that it was going to be tonight, that final ten was going to niggle at him persistently until he had absolute confirmation. He busied himself by lighting the gas lamps, keeping them on a warming, low setting, bathing the room in a sort of rosy glow. Malfoy's golden hair became tinted with flashes of auburn.

Draco half-turned towards Harry as the light touched him. His hands rose to the collar of his shirt and started unbuttoning. The light made his neck shine with fresh, peachy hues as he revealed the porcelain skin to the glow, giving him a healthy flush. In a moment Harry's arms appeared lightly on his arms, turning him to him. "Here, let me," he grinned down at the breathless brunette, who blushed, making him grin more. He loved that the sight of his body still made Harry redden, even though he knew by now what it looked like. The shirt fell behind him onto the floor, discarded. Another time he might have chastised the Gryffindor playfully, flicking his wand at the garment briefly to send it folding and ironing itself out, but this time he ignored it. Let it lie. Focused on the boy in front of him.

Harry ran his hands gingerly up the trim sides, tracing his thumbs over the dusky nipples, right up Malfoy's neck and into his hair, pulling him down for a gentle kiss. Malfoy tilted his head to the right, fitting together. They were both breathing lowly, gentle gasps between meetings of lips and teeth and tongue. He felt intensely … 'turned on'. One of his hands found the small of Harry's back and brought him closer, whilst the other explored his side, creeping up under his t-shirt. They parted; the tip of his nose was tracing the bridge of Harry's from the tip to the bar of his glasses, and back.

"Are you sure?"

Draco smiled, poked his tongue out and met Harry's bottom lip. Received a lick in turn. "Mmm, certain." Harry's t-shirt hit the floor. He ran his hands over the tanned torso once, checking, nodded to himself. He caught the brunette's hands, placing them on his own belt buckle. They didn't say anything; they were quiet. He hadn't let Harry see all of him since the last time they'd made love, before the Christmas holidays. He didn't need to tell Harry how much this moment meant. The buckle made a _clink-chink_ noise as the pieces detached. The zip sounded loud. They giggled simultaneously, self-conscious.

"Hum," Harry said, blushing again. Malfoy moved his hands to make sure that the boxers were coming off with the trousers, he didn't want to have to deal with them later, better to get the whole lot off in one go. Harry's eyes flicked to his briefly, but he didn't say anything about it, his thumb caressed Malfoy's hip before he continued pulling off the garments. He knelt to free Malfoy's legs from the trousers and undergarments, followed carefully by his socks, biting his lip self-consciously. When he was done, he looked up, and into Malfoy's face gently smiling down at him. He grinned back, running his hands up to the creamy, lightly furred legs. Planted a kiss first on one side, then the other, of Malfoy's inner thighs.

Draco inhaled nervously, and swiftly pulled Harry up, grabbing slightly. "Hey," Harry caressed his upper arms soothingly. "You alright?" He nodded, wetting his lips. Harry leaned forwards and nuzzled his neck just below his ear. "You're so perfect."

Draco grinned at him, kissed him. Felt Harry's hands on his back, then the small of his back, then the top of his buttocks. Knew how careful Harry was being with him, and felt cherished by it. "I'm ready." Whispering. He had only enough breath to not fall over, but it was a surprisingly good feeling. He took the half-clothed brunette gently by the hand and led him to the bed. Harry's thumb was stroking his knuckles. He let go of his hand and lay down, propping himself on his elbows a bit. Harry stood for a moment, staring down at him. It was like being drunk, savoured, like a fine wine, a rare creature. His entire body flushed with pleasure.

Harry seemed to suddenly come back to himself. He shucked off his jeans, but left his own boxers. It wasn't that he'd forgotten what Malfoy's naked body looked like, but he had always found it slightly intimidating, gorgeous, as it was, when he compared them. Plus, he needed to show the blond that he could still stop. He could still _stop_. Malfoy was holding out a hand to him. Harry swallowed, and took it. Allowed himself to be pulled onto the bed, onto the slightly trembling naked body. "God…" Harry sighed, slipping a leg between Malfoy's thighs.

Draco moaned, mewling lightly at the contact, remembered after so long, tilting his head back so that Harry could attack his neck. He steadied his breathing carefully. Harry felt it.

"Alright?" He nodded. Harry smiled warmly at him, kissed him softly. Draco sighed. "You are so, so beautiful." Harry ran his hands up his arms, pinning them gently over his head. His eyes flicked to the Dark Mark, and then back to Draco's eyes. "Everywhere. Every –kiss- single –kiss- bit." He ran his fingers lightly over the mark, highlighting his point. The fingers of his other hand lightly laced with the blonde's.

Draco released the breath he didn't know he'd been holding. "I want you." He pushed Harry gently so that he was over him, and pulled off the boxer shorts.

Finally, they were lying naked, together, skin-to-skin, for the first time in months.

It felt so good.

888

"Oh – oh my God, Draco…hyneh…" Breathless.

"Nughhh…ah-"

"Al – alright?"

"I – d-don't stop…oh God, Harry… Harry…" Quiet entreaties. Soft.

Their eyes flew open at the same time.

888

"That was amazing," Harry breathed, when he thought he could speak. He looked down at the blond nestled in his arms, legs all tangled in his. Perfect. He felt so happy that he was giddy. "You okay?"

"Hmm," Malfoy hummed contentedly, craning up to kiss him. His tongue stroked in and out sensuously. He grinned, carefree and open, touching the tip of his nose to Harry's. "Tiny bit sore, but good. Better than good. Thank you. For waiting."

"You don't have to thank me," Harry kissed him briefly, and they snuggled in closer. He reached out an arm and tugged the covers over them both. They both 'hmm'-ed sweetly. Harry broke into a spontaneous smile, cupped his jaw. "Even if you decided you didn't want this, now it's happened, I'd still be here, do you get that?"

Draco thought he'd never smiled quite so much. It was a very strange experience. And also very strange how uplifting, inside, the act of smiling so much, made him feel. "I know. But I won't be giving this up again."

Had they ever talked so frankly?

They lay in companionable silence, sated, glowing from the sensations of making love, finally. They both sniggered, impulsively, at the faint sound of Ron finally going to bed in the next room. He must have stayed up for at least an hour more than was necessary, just in case. A friend indeed.

Harry was nearly asleep; Malfoy still curled on his chest, when the blond spoke again.

"My father is dead."

Harry sat up and stared at him. Malfoy was motionless, expressionless, glazed eyes fixed on the ceiling. He was not crying. Harry suspected that he had done that in private.

"Moody did it," he continued, calmly. "Why I ended up stuck there so long. There will be questions and stuff, so I just… I thought I should tell you."

"Malfoy…" could think of nothing to say back. Was useless.

"He was my father." Malfoy repeated. His voice was small and unbelieving. Harry gathered him into his arms. Felt as though maybe they were kindred now that they had both lost parents, but he didn't. Because he couldn't remember his parents. All those times he had whined about his own loss, he now abhorred himself for. "My mother has fled to France to be with my cousins. She sent word for me to remain in school, so Dumbledore's going to keep me here. He wants me where someone can keep an eye on me."

Harry exhaled. "I might not be here," he whispered. "I meant to tell you earlier. McGonagall wants me to go back to school for the exams."

Draco's faced crumbled quietly. He was dry sobbing, but not crying. His face turned into Harry's chest. "Fuck, _please, don't leave_."

They'd had a really amazing time, and now they were having a really shit time. Harry took a steadying breath, and wished he'd fallen asleep sooner. "It's not up to me, but believe me, I don't want to. I want to be with you. You know that."

"God, I'm sorry," Malfoy pulled away from him, humiliated. He scrubbed his hands over his face quickly and turned away onto his side. "I didn't mean to tell you now, I meant to do it tomorrow morning, it just… it just came out. I don't know why I said it."

"It's okay. We're together, you can talk to me, you know you can." Harry spooned him carefully. If he was going to be with Malfoy properly, he needed to be able to take on any of the shit times. And if they reared their ugly heads straight after they'd made love for the first time in months, well, he had to be able to take that too.

888

Thin rays of early morning sun dappled across the rumpled sheets of Harry's bed.

"Argh," he spelled the curtains shut and shot a scowl at the blonde's laughter. They were lying in the post-coital bliss of sleepy, slow, morning sex. Early morning because they were afraid of making noise. Harry released an hmm-ing sigh, tracing the firm outline of Malfoy's chest, admiring the contours in relation to his own dwindling physique. If he were to return to Hogwarts, he'd be making the most of the Quidditch pitch and surrounding grounds, maybe even take up running. Malfoy's hand found its way onto his upper thigh, stroking lightly. He quirked an eyebrow at it. "Aren't you spent?" he said, incredulously, eyes flicking down the length of the naked beauty, and back again.

"Can't keep up?"

Harry's eyebrows touched his hairline. "You're insatiable."

"Hmmm…" Draco sniggered, pulling Harry on top of him again. Felt his hands on him, so giving.

"You couldn't possibly…"

"I'm eighteen, not eighty, Potter. What's your excuse?" He bit his bottom lip, flirting.

"Mmm, fuck-"

"Well that's the idea…" Draco was saying. Voice soft in Harry's ear. Didn't mind that he was already sore this morning, because Harry was always gentle, even when he was commandeering. One of the reasons Draco trusted him so much. Like a jolt bringing them back to earth, there was a rap at the door. Harry muttered 'damn it' and rolled off him. Draco's arousal wilted; he pulled the covers back across him.

"Erm, Harry?" Ron's voice.

"What do you want?" Harry did not do very well at keeping the irritation from his voice. It was Easter Bloody Saturday for Christ's sake, if he couldn't bugger his boyfriend then without being interrupted, when could he?

"Sorry mate but I really need to talk to you right now."

Harry sighed. Malfoy shrugged at him. The reasonable side of him told him that Ron was well aware how little he, they, wanted to be disturbed, and that he therefore wouldn't have done so unless he had a damn good reason. "Accio dressing gown," he muttered, reaching over for his glasses, and fishing about at the foot of the bed for the nearest pair of boxers, still bundled in the sheets where they'd been stripped from him the night before. He swung his legs out of bed and let his feet touch the freezing floor, slipping into the dressing gown and tying it securely, well aware that he was a bit… sticky… and that Ron probably wouldn't appreciate an eyeful so early in the morning.

Ron waited while the door was unlocked. A rumpled Harry poked his head around it, looking annoyed but not angry. His eyes flicked behind his friend of their own accord. A glimpse of Malfoy, hastily enveloping himself further in the sheets. His eyes snapped away hastily. He cleared his throat, eyes somewhere on the doorframe. Harry took the hint and came out into the draughty hallway, pulling the door nearly to behind him.

"Er…"

"Sorry," Harry muttered. He raked a hand through his unruly locks, blushing. Ron realised immediately that his friend probably felt ten times more embarrassed than he did right now.

"Nah mate, really. Just, if it wasn't me coming to wake you, it would've been one of the Order, and I doubt that would've gone down well, if you catch my drift." Harry nodded, gratefully. Ron nodded in the direction of the stairs, "McGonagall's in the kitchen. Says she needs to speak to you. I think you're going back. Hermione said she heard Lupin and Snape talking about it when she was passing the study this morning."

"God, you bloody early risers," Harry shook his head, "er, I suppose I'll be down after I've had a chance to grab a shower and get some clothes. Um-" a hand had appeared on his shoulder. The door had opened and Malfoy was standing in the gap wearing the clothes he'd had on the night before.

"I'd better get upstairs and change and stuff before everyone else decides to come around," he murmured, shyly wary of Ron's gaze. "I'll be down for some breakfast within a half hour."

"Okay." Harry shot up on his toes and pecked the Slytherin on the mouth. Hell, if he couldn't do that in front of Ron, they'd all have a serious problem. Malfoy flushed scarlet, but flashed a quick grin and a muttered 'morning, Weasley,' before he passed up the stairs.

Ron gave Harry a steady look. "I'll be in the kitchen subduing McGonagall. …Show-off."

Harry laughed, relieved. "Okay. Twenty minutes tops."

888

When Draco reached the arched doorway into the kitchen he found it ajar. He loitered on the top step, in the shadows, listening. A cold clamp compressed his chest. Harry was going back to Hogwarts until the exams were over. He breathed carefully, leaning into the wall for a moment, trying not to think about what it would be like, remaining in this house on his own. He clenched his hands and glanced down at the ring glinting on his hand. The Malfoy signet ring his father had bequeathed to him for his eighteenth, a symbol of his transition from boy to man in the eyes of the family. Little did Lucius know that his son wouldn't be so keen on marrying and continuing the line. He supposed that the Malfoy name would end with him, homosexual as he was. This was a very unhelpful thought. He felt a new wave of grief for his father's passing.

Rearranging his features into something less telling, he took a breath and pushed the door open. McGonagall was sitting with her back to him, an enormous teapot between her and Harry, who met his eyes immediately with a guilty look. He flashed him a resigned glance quickly, before taking in the other occupants of the room. Hermione was sitting at the far end of the table eating cornflakes, with her nose stuck in 'Defensive Spells at NEWT'. Snape had just passed him on his way out, and Lupin was sitting in the chair by the stove, staring steadily at him. He tried to ignore this, and took a seat opposite Hermione, who nudged the cornflakes packet across to him wordlessly, still engrossed in her page.

He began to eat slowly, eavesdropping on McGonagall, who was now telling Harry that he should be aware that returning to Hogwarts still meant that he wouldn't be allowed to do certain things without a 'watcher' around, and that Hogsmeade visits and any other out of school activity would be completely prohibited. In short, he was only returning to take his exams properly. Draco chewed slowly, wondering how he was going to be expected to manage his own exams. Or whether he just didn't matter anymore.

"Hey, Malfoy?" Hermione's soft voice made him jump. He shot her a quizzical look. "You know the defensive visionary expedience hex?"

"Yes, although most people like to refer to is as simply a temporary blindness curse."

"Oh I hate that, it neglects to inform you that it's a defensive spell."

"You don't think it could be used offensively as well? Granger," he raised an eyebrow at her.

"Hmm. Well, if it came up in a NEWT written paper, what would you write on it? Do you think you'd have to include the post-hex visionary planes?"

"Hmm… pass me the book for a sec." He realised that she was doing him a favour, and he was grateful. She didn't have to be kind to him. He regretted his racism like a sudden flash back to the past. The word Mudblood would not be passing his lips again with regards to her. It was a very strange feeling. They discussed the spell for a while, companionably munching and drinking their tea. When he looked away from her, he realised that everyone was gone, apart from Harry, who was watching their discussion quietly, a pensive smile on his face. "Hello."

"Hey, you two brainiacs enjoying yourselves over there?"

"Harry Potter, I have told you repeatedly not to call me a 'brainiac,' it's highly undignified," said Hermione, briskly, getting up and putting her bowl and mug in the sink and spelling them to start washing themselves. Draco shot Harry a smirk. He rolled his eyes in return, suitably chastised. "I'll um, go and see what Ron's up to."

Harry sat looking at Malfoy until Hermione's footsteps had died away and there was complete and utter silence. He moved up along the table and plonked himself lightly onto Malfoy's lap.

"Hey! Lummox."

"I am not that heavy."

"Heavier than me."

"Yes, well you've got annoying genetics," Harry leaned down and kissed him soundly.

"Cool it, Potter, you know anyone could just walk in."

"Hmm, chance I'm willing to take," Harry threaded his fingers into the silky locks and let his tongue stroke over the blonde's and into his mouth. He felt very 'boyfriendy'. Malfoy's palm pressed on his collarbones. They parted slowly. He rested his forehead onto his lover's. "I feel bad now. Ron and Hermione only came out of school for today and tomorrow. I'm going to make an Easter cake for when the Weasleys get here. You going to help?"

Draco snorted. "Can't I just watch?"

"Lazy. Fine, be undomesticated," Harry slapped his arm playfully and received a pinch in return with a little shriek. They laughed until Harry closed the space again between them, and captured his mouth again. "Hmmpf, alright. I'm going to start making this, but you stay here and keep me company."

"Yes sir, bossy."

Forty minutes later, Ron walked straight into the back of Hermione, on the stairs down into the kitchen. "What the-"

"Shh, listen," she turned to him, grinning, "I don't think I've ever heard Malfoy laughing, have you?" It sounded nice, if a little weird. They knocked before entering. The scene was like one from some sort of odd slapstick TV program. Harry and Malfoy were suspended staring at the doorway, covered in a lot of spilled flour. A slow cloud of sugar and plain flour was beginning to settle on them. The counter behind them was covered in smashed eggs and various spilled ingredients, some of which had managed to find their way into the china mixing-bowl.

Malfoy cleared his throat, dustily. "Er, he's making an Easter cake. And I'm… helping." Ron raised his eyebrows, nodding. "Right, so, I'm going to go and clean up," he pushed past them.

Hermione started laughing, "you're making an Easter cake? You big _girl_!"

Harry pursed his lips at her and turned back to the mess in the bowl, casually flicking his wand at the mess around him. "I'm trying to do something nice for when the Weasleys get here, so shut up."

"Harry, you know my mum'll bring about three hundred desserts with her and then make more crap when she gets here."

"That's not the point. Get over here and help me. 'Mione, you make the icing. Please?"

"Oh bloody hell, alright," Ron glanced at the doorway but Malfoy wasn't back yet. "Sooo… looks like things are going swimmingly for you. Tell me, which of you's the girl? OW!" Harry had thumped him. Hermione started laughing.

"Neither of us is 'the girl', we're both blokes, that's what being _gay_ is all about," said Harry, huffily. Ron articulated that he'd actually been joking, rubbing his arm. Hermione laughed again and started grating orange zest to put in the icing.

When Malfoy returned to the kitchen, he found Harry and Ron sitting companionably at the table, the cake safely in the oven, and Hermione leaning against the counter, stirring a creamy bowl of icing. She glanced towards him as he entered.

"Malfoy, we were just saying, Ron and I might come back here after the exams. Would that be okay with you?"

He paused on the bottom step. "Me?"

"Won't you still be living here?"

His eyes travelled to Harry, who was watching him in a state of suspension. He felt a slight grin travel onto his face. "Well, I'd better be," he said. Harry grinned at him, relieved. "Besides, if you're not here, I might have to hang out with Potter." He sat down next to him and received a discreet stroke on the knee. Thank you, it said.

Hermione set the bowl of icing down and took a seat next to Ron, who pulled a little piece of orange zest out of her hair and gave her a peck on the cheek. She leaned into him naturally. They began discussing, to Ron's chagrin, the impending exams and what they thought they could feasibly expect to achieve in them. When Hermione and Malfoy started discussing Arithmancy, which Ron and Harry didn't take, the latter got up to check on the cake and get them some tea. Ron made a quip about how domestic he'd become, and Malfoy laughed at it. Something like happiness swelled in Harry's chest. He wished he didn't have to go back to school.

Later, when the cake had been iced and put in the larder, and Ron and Hermione had flooed to The Burrow to see when the others would be coming the next day, Harry was sitting in the sitting room with Draco's head resting in his lap. One of his hands absentmindedly threaded in and out of the lovely hair, massaging the scalp, whilst the other rested on the arm of the sofa, turning the pages of his book. Draco was dozing now; he could feel the tension leaving him, the warm weight of him resting on his thigh trustingly. He was not stupid enough not to recognise that the blond was more than concerned about the impending arrival of the Weasley family tomorrow. They had no reason to be in any way civil, let alone nice to him.

Ron approached the door.

"Shh, look," Hermione was saying. They peered round the sitting room door. There on the couch was Harry and Malfoy, asleep, Harry's hand unconsciously twirling a strand of Malfoy's hair. "I have to do this, hang on, - accio camera," an ordinary muggle Polaroid instant camera zoomed down the stairs and into her hand. She clicked twice, shaking the images into being. "I suppose we should wake them up, before anyone else finds them like this."

"You think I did the right thing?" Ron considered the scene, head tilted thoughtfully. Hermione planted a kiss on his cheek.

"Of course I do."

"What do you think Malfoy said about Harry coming back to school?"

Hermione bit her lip and glanced down at the photos. Because they were muggle, they didn't move, but that was okay. The image was sweetly intimate all the same. It said everything it needed to say.

"If they're that serious about each other, it won't be a problem."

"They have a problem, being lonely. It's so weird now, I never noticed how similar Harry was to Malfoy until today."

"Maybe all that divination's paying off and you're becoming more intuitive," Hermione smirked at him. He looked sideways at her.

"Stop taking the piss or I'll have to kiss you."

"You can kiss me anyway."

"Hmm. Let's turf them out of the prime snog-spot first."

"Ron!"

That evening, when Harry and Malfoy had disappeared off to bed, Ron and Hermione claimed the couch for an intimate moment of their own.

888

"It's Malfoy, isn't it? Malfoy was the person Harry kept going to see all those times. The bloke we weren't allowed to meet. All those times."

Ginny was standing in the drawing room, resplendent in her Easter Sunday best and looking daggers at the blond who had just surreptitiously moved slightly in front of Harry Potter. A small area of her brain registered the activity and noted it, alarmed. Her face had flamed almost on-shade to her hair. She was shaking her head, shocked. Ron and Hermione lingered in the background, unsure whether to intervene. Of course Ginny would figure it out immediately, it was clear that something had been going on for a long time, and now she had all the pieces of the puzzle before her, it was as though a hand had come down and slotted the final jigsaw part into the picture.

"Harry no, no you can't seriously… just… YOU!" she turned round and spat at Ron, enraged. "All the times he's badmouthed our family, _everything_ his father's done to us-" Harry saw Draco go tense, and placed a calming hand on his hip. "You, you are such a traitor Ronald! You're worse than a traitor; you disgust me! And you!" she turned back to Harry. Draco moved a little further in front of him. "Everything he's done to you, put all of us through! Aren't there enough _bent guys_ in Hogwarts who aren't fucking Death Eaters-"

"Oh, no, you did _not_ just call us '_bent_'-" Draco snapped back, hand to his cheek. Ginny had _slapped_ him, slapped him with all her might.

"Gin!" Ron whispered, stunned. He had never seen his sister act in such an aggressive manner before. Easter was officially ruined. He stepped forwards and took her firmly by the upper arm, and turned towards Harry to see what was happening. His friend was too busy to look at him, however; right now he was busy inspecting the Slytherin's face.

"You alright?" softly spoken, to a nod. Ron heard Ginny's breathing get angrier. He knew that his sister had fully accepted that Harry was gay, but this revelation was different. He understood her hatred of Malfoy… he'd just never realised it held so much fire. Harry turned from the blond and glared at her, speechless. Instead of attempting a comment, capturing Malfoy's lips, claiming and final, said it all. Ron glanced at Ginny, who was frozen, all pink and white and orange. Harry pulled away again and shot her a pointed look. She hauled herself out of Ron's grasp and stalked out of the room.

Ron went after her before she could tell everyone.

Hermione, applauded. And then inspected Malfoy's cheek.

888

Easter Monday

Hermione turned and watched 12 Grimmauld Place slide out of view. Her last glimpse was of a white face staring out, in a solitary confinement.

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**Please review and let me know what you think. I hope I'm not going to get slated for making Ginny so un-understanding, but it's true that the Weasleys have been victimised for a long time by the Malfoys, and whilst Ron had Harry's welfare to consider, Ginny's view of Draco would be a lot more of a black and white issue. **

**thank you for reading this installment, **

**skinnyrita xxx**


	13. Chapter 13

_Hi everyone, I am so so sorry about the length of time it has taken to get an update, but I hope that you will enjoy this chapter. As usual (as should be expected!) I have really tried to put my all into it, I promise not to scrimp, ever, on the quality of writing. However, this will probably be the norm now, that updates will be very far apart, so you will have to bear with me- I am now in my degree year and have multiple projects on the go, so working on chapters for this story on a regular basis is not a feasible concept. Sad but true, and I'd rather make my readers wait for updates than post writing I didn't take time over. _

_I hope you enjoy it,_

_Disclaimer: I own no part of Harry Potter and do not write for monetary gain, I am merely a fan who likes to use these characters to aid my writing practice and keep my skills up. _

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**Reconciliation.**

_**Noun.**_

**The re-establishing of cordial relations.**

_A mending of broken pieces, brought to you by skinnyrita._

"You really hurt me Ginny."

Harry turned away from the arched windows and drew his attention back into the common room, which was thankfully deserted, it being nearly one in the morning. He'd been waiting up for Ginny to come back from her 'date' with Michael Corner, so that he could take the opportunity to confront her about the outburst which had taken place in his living room only a week and a half before, and after which, Ginny had refused to speak to him –not that he had tried particularly hard to talk to her. But he had had enough, and now was the time to sort things out. He liked Ginny, he really did, and as a matter of fact he was finding it truly devastating to be out of terms with his surrogate little sister. Ginny had been very supportive of his coming out, so he knew that that wasn't the issue here. The issue was solely on whom he happened to be intimate with right now. The issue was with Malfoy. And Harry had worked too hard for that relationship to back out now. He refused to. It was bad enough that they were yet again separated like this. He just wanted to get his head down, do his exams and then get the hell back to his lover before anything else happened (as things always seemed to be 'happening' to them). And there was nothing wrong with that. If only he could get Ginny to see.

He took a breath and continued. The red-haired girl was sitting rigidly in her favourite armchair, face and hair flaming in the firelight.

"I know you don't like Malfoy, and I understand that, but what I don't understand is how violent… you said and did some pretty hurtful things you know, and not just to him. Calling me…'_bent'_… you know I hate that expression, you really… _hurt_ me, Gin."

"Look, Harry." Ginny's voice was small but determined. "I apologise for calling you bent, I apologise for yelling at you. But I will not apologise for what I said to Malfoy, even if you are fucking him."

"Don't you dare-"

"No Harry, you want to talk about it, then bloody listen! I have every reason in the world to hate him, don't you realise the _hell_ his family have put ours through, for our entire lives, _my_ life? I've never even spoken as much as two words to him at school and yet every single time he ever passed me in the corridor, he took every opportunity possible to bait me, to disrespect my parents, my upbringing, my …social position, anything he could come up with! What have I ever done to deserve any of that? Ron may have negotiated some sort of weird truce here, but I won't, and if our friendship means anything to you then you'll back out of this too!"

Harry tugged a hand through his hair, distractedly, and perched on the corner of the nearest table, absently. His voice was quiet. "I don't know what to tell you Ginny, I'm sorry. I had no idea. I won't ask you to respect Malfoy… but…respect _me_. I am _not_ giving him up."

"But Harry -!"

"No, no, Ginny," Harry held a hand up to stall her indignant tirade, "please, I don't want this to come between us. But I really need him, I need to be with him."

"No you don't Harry, you-"

"No, please, Ginny, _please_ understand. And I haven't said any of this to Ron or Hermione, okay?"

"I… okay."

Harry took a breath. "He understands me. I mean… he _really_ understands me. When we're together, even when we're fighting, which we do, by the way, although not as much anymore, he stops me feeling depressed. He stops me feeling like a… I don't know, a symbol or something. I just feel like myself, like I've got nothing to prove because he knows me… this isn't making any sense, never mind."

"It makes sense Harry," Ginny sighed and picked some loose threads on the arm of the chair. "But I don't like it."

Harry released the breath he didn't know he'd been holding. He shuffled forwards and sat on the arm of her chair, and put a hand on her arm. She offered him a rueful smile. "I know you don't," Harry said, "but can we at least be friends now? I promise never to put you in a position where you have to talk to him, or even be in the same room as him, not if you don't want to."

"I can deal with that."

"Are you going to tell Ron and Hermione about this?"

Ginny tilted her head at him. "Not if you don't want me to."

Harry sighed and shifted on the chair arm. "They've been really supportive, all things considering. I have no idea how long they knew about this before we had to go to number twelve, but they definitely did know…"

"How long _has_ it been going on?"

"Since just before Halloween I suppose. I mean, you know, it didn't start out as anything much. I didn't mean for it to go this far really, I just really missed having him around or something…"

"You were used to taking your frustrations out on each other," said Ginny, sagely.

Harry cast her a sharp glance, "It's not like that now. I mean, we've been through a lot since then, it's not been a picnic by any means, and it's really not about sex or anything, I mean a lot of the time-" he broke off quickly. Had been about to mention Draco's hesitancy with intimacy… but no; no that was private. "Um, a lot of the time we've been 'together' has been more divided, um, I think what I mean is, we've worked hard at it. I think it's working. I feel like we're in a relationship." He frowned. It was odd trying to put into words thoughts that had only just started becoming coherent in his own head.

Ginny regarded him silently for a moment. "You seem a lot happier, Harry, I'll give you that. But is this really what you want? Nothing will be easy you know. I mean, he's a Death Eater, right? It's not just dangerous for you, it's dangerous for him, for Snape, for everyone at headquarters…"

"They don't know. Only you, Ron and Hermione. The less people who know, the better. What they don't know can't hurt them."

"You'd better be right …Will you tell them eventually though? I mean, it's a large house, but it's not that large."

"That depends on what happens. If we stay together, then yeah, I suppose we'll have to let someone know. I'm glad you know, Gin. It feels better."

"Come here, four-eyes." They hugged, Harry's head cushioned on a thatch of thick red hair.

They hugged and both were almost happy.

888

Malfoy,

Sorry – this is the only method of communication I could think of. Slow but… you know, anyway.

I wanted to let you know that I talked to Ginny last night. About what happened. She's apologised, but I doubt she will to you, so I thought I'd do it for her: sorry. I didn't get a chance to really talk to you about it, we left so fast.

This is lame, but if I could have spent one more night there with you I would have. I miss you so much, and school is dull and pointless without you. I hope you're okay there on your own. It won't be for very long, soon it will be the end of exams (a month and three days, but who's counting?) and I'll come back and we'll be together. If that's still what you want. It's what I want. I want you. I might not send this but I mean it anyway. I want you, I really do. I think about you every minute of every day, and I'm going to completely fail all my NEWTS and blame you completely.

Harry.

_Potter, _

_It's boring here too. All there is to do is my work, which at least should mean the exams will go well, but isn't particularly enthralling. _

_Moody is here. Don't worry, I haven't seen him. We're avoiding each other, I think. Lupin has been around all week, he's been private tutoring me in History of Magic and Defence – the man's a walking textbook. He's been giving me calculating looks though, I feel like he knows something, but I can't say what. I'm doing my exams the same week as you, with McGonagall and some Order member as invigilators. No hope of letting you know the answers in advance then. _

_I'm glad you sorted things with weaselgirl, but don't apologise for her. I never expected her approval and I don't want it. _

_Draco_

_I miss you desperately. _

Malfoy,

Today Snape made us brew draught of the living death and fed mine to a lab rat. It was horrific. Although it seems that my potions have improved, I suppose, otherwise it wouldn't have worked. I'm sorry I couldn't reply to your letter last week, but we've been mobbed with past papers in practically every subject. I rolled over this morning and remembered that you weren't beside me.

Harry.

_Potter, _

_I've been sleeping in your bed, mine feels weird. It's empty in here without you. _

_Draco._

Draco,

How are you? I'm so sorry I hadn't replied yet. I've been trying to exercise every morning before breakfast, apparently it's supposed to be good for your brain. Between that and study, there hasn't been a lot of time. Good luck for the exams next week. Eleven days until I see you (okay so I was counting).

Sleeping in my bed? You don't even want to see the image in my head right now, but let me tell you that it's making me sweat and not in a bad way. I want to touch you so much. Last night I remembered our last time together, I don't think I need to spell it out for you.

I miss you.

Eleven days.

Harry.

888

Harry's leg twitched under the kitchen table from the effort of trying not to look at Malfoy. It was two days after their last exam and he had been back at Grimmauld Place, for two hours and twenty minutes, and most of that time, apart from a nip to the loo, had been spent sitting in this stupid kitchen with various Weasleys, Order members and teachers, and he was practically shaking from the close vicinity to his lover, not being able to touch him yet, ask him exactly how he was, every bit of it, and then, maybe, if he wanted it: make love to him. He breathed out slowly, quietly. He was going mad. The back of his neck was hot under his collar, and he wished he'd worn something less close-fitting, but he'd wanted to look good for Malfoy, wanted to impress him, to look the part of his lover –to look 'worthy,' for once. He had no idea what the others were talking about; his own contributions to the conversation had been reduced to occasional grunts. He gave in and cast a glance at the handsome blond, who was sitting practically opposite him, which was not helping anything, and his chest filled with emotion so quickly that he couldn't have spoken even if he wanted to.

God, Malfoy was beautiful. He wasn't looking at Harry; his eyes were set hard on his mug. Moody had left about ten minutes ago. Harry had felt the tension radiating from the blond right up until the last wisp of the auror's cloak disappeared into the floo. Now his lengthening hair was brushing across his high forehead, the tips of the longest tendrils lightly touching the end of his nose, the tip of which wiggled every time it came into contact with an errant strand. His porcelain cheeks were graced with a faint flush –perhaps he was aware of Harry's scrutiny, perhaps he was merely hot, or slightly uncomfortable due to the fact that very little of the conversation in the room was including him, as usual… His cheekbones caught the light, highlighting the arch but not appearing too sharp, the pale lips curving below the aristocratic profile curving into an expression of solitary contemplation but not the habitual smirk Harry had come to adore. His tongue slipped out and wet those lips, quickly. Harry snapped his attention back to the rest of the table, a flutter of panic lurching in and out of him.

He realised that he had unconsciously cleared his throat, loudly, and nearly everyone was looking at him. "Um, nothing, sorry. Scratchy throat," he muttered, ducking his head in a blush. He felt Ron and Hermione's gazes linger on him, gauging how he was doing. The chair opposite him scraped back loudly. He looked up quickly. Malfoy was leaving the table. He looked a little shaken.

"Malfoy?" Lupin's soft voice.

"I'll be in the library, excuse me." The door opening and closing again. Harry's foot resumed tapping under the table. He could feel Lupin looking at him with that calculating expression on his face.

"We'd better be off home, Remus," Molly's voice filtered down the table, "I've got to get the dinner on or no one will be eating tonight!"

Surplus Order members and Aurors began to dissipate into the floo, back to whatever it was they did when they weren't cluttering up Harry's kitchen. He paid them little attention, praying that everyone was going to leave, cleanly. The library seemed far away.

"Harry I need to floo to Hogwarts to see Severus for my wolfsbane, but I'm sure you'll be all right with Ron and Hermione," said Lupin, sounding weary. He was pulling on a worn looking brown cloak as he spoke. Harry felt a leap of adrenaline inside of him. He didn't trust himself to speak, merely nodded. Ron and Hermione cast knowing looks at each other. The moment the green flare of the floo died away, he whipped round and stared at them.

"Go on, dozy," Hermione laughed at him, pulling Ron's mug towards her for a refill, "we'll be down here in case he comes back."

Harry's face cracked into a relieved grin. "Thank you guys _so much_…"

He took the stairs two at a time.

888

Harry had hardly burst into the library before he was catapulted back against the closing door and he felt a hot mouth and very wet tongue slip against his. He moaned in happy surprise and wrapped his arms tightly around the blond, who broke the onslaught and smiled against the curving lips. "Miss me?" Harry asked, breathlessly. Wanting to hear it.

Malfoy smirked and leaned his forehead against Harry's. "You have no idea how much." Before the brunette could reply, his lips were captured again in a more sensuous but no less demanding dance. Harry's body responded by undulating against him and Malfoy shivered. He put his hand through the crook of Harry's arm and locked the door behind him. The Gryffindor broke the kiss and gave him a searching look, cheeks, lips and neck flushed with a rosy glow. "I can't wait, Harry…" Malfoy whispered. He was breathing in shallow pants. He saw a flicker of emotion cross the shorter boy's face: it was rare that they used each other's first names, and so the use of his name became even more poignant than usual.

Harry's gaze flicked up and down his body, quickly, before searching his eyes again, his own bright and unsteady. "Do you mean…?"

Draco nodded mutely. "I can't wait," he mouthed, unable to make the words sound. He managed to get Harry's shirt off him in record time and unbutton the top of his fly before he had even realised what was happening. "Oh _god_, Potter," he choked, finding his voice, "_what did you do_?" he ran his fingers lightly over Harry's newly toned up physique, almost a six-pack, before placing his palms flat on it and running them upwards through dark chest hair in order to caress the dusky nipples with his thumbs. Harry gasped with sensation, allowing the blond to move on to his collarbones as his lips rained soft open-mouthed kisses on his neck and finally back to his mouth as he managed to unbutton most of the Slytherin's shirt and loosen his belt in turn. Draco was so wanton for him, he was practically pressing him through the door. He had never kissed him so deeply, with such a lack of restraint. It was freeing, and exhilarating, and more than slightly mad. Harry broke the kiss; had to be sure.

"Are you sure? Not too… too soon?"

He received a blinding, open smile in return for his concern. "Come on…" Draco pulled him dazedly over to the largest armchair, large enough for two people to sit almost side by side, and pushed him down onto it. Harry felt himself becoming fully aroused as Malfoy hurriedly toed his shoes off and dropped his habitually smart black trousers on the ancient rug. He had barely a few seconds to appraise the blonde's body before his own jeans were yanked further down his legs to just past his knees – too frantic to get them all the way off, and then Draco was straddling his thighs, a knee on either side; there was just enough room in the chair to accommodate them. Long pale fingers laced into black hair and pulled him closer. Harry tilted his head up as the pale neck arched down to capture his mouth again, hungrier and with more feeling, more need, more raw want than ever, but never painful, never taking without caring, simply together – so far together that it felt like Malfoy was mapping every inch of his mouth. As he returned the kiss, he fumbled around for the couple of buttons on the blonde's shirt that he had previously missed. He ran his fingers over the smooth skin and pretty rosy nipples, relearning them for a few seconds. Draco broke the kiss – he always thought of him more as Draco than Malfoy when they were together like this – and grinned down at his ministrations, shyly.

Harry offered a reverent gaze upwards, palms flat and warm against porcelain perfect skin, against the hairless pectorals, the regal neck, thumb brushing the jutting Adam's apple, and over the sweep of shoulder into the folds of shirt still clinging to the blonde's back. There was something infinitely erotic about his lover clad solely in an open white shirt, and his socks. "Beautiful," he murmured. They were both breathing loudly, trying to keep calm and not rush too much, although there was certainly a sense of urgency. Making love in the library had very different, more rushed connotations than when they were in bed. The library was public and unsafe. Reckless. Draco shifted upwards, and Harry felt a stab of desire so deep that it was painful as he realised that he was ready for the brunette to prepare him.

"_God_..._ah-haii, Harry_…"

God, the sight of that pale neck bending backwards, lost in a haze of lust. And something else. Their eyes met as their bodies merged, twin gasps amalgamating with whimpers as lips muffled the sounds of passion and relief and something so near to the first sighs of love that it hurt to feel something so _good_. They had _never_ made love like this, never. Harry opened his eyes to take in Draco's handsome face, small rivulets of sweat pooling in the dip of his collarbones, the shirt on his back sticking to his skin under Harry's hands, encircling arms gripping the Slytherin tightly to him, close as possible, as he nipped the juncture of shoulder and neck. A passionate expulsion of raw pleasure ripped itself from Draco's throat, and Harry felt the seeker-powerful thighs wrap him tighter. Draco cradled his face and stared at him intensely for a few moments before leaning in to kiss him again, softer, caressing, panting, breathing his breaths, part of him… they were both building towards the crescendo.

Their eyes flew open at the same time, mouths open. No holds barred.

Malfoy swayed, panting. Harry linked his arms around the shirted back hastily, supporting him as his own body sagged against the armchair. Malfoy laughed breathlessly and leaned his forehead back onto Harry's. Nuzzled the bridge of his nose. "I might let you go away more often," he joked. Harry sniggered.

"Christ, thank god for Ron and Hermione, there's no way that could've happened if Lupin had been around."

They snickered together. Malfoy shifted on his lap, reminding Harry that they were still together. "Not yet," he muttered, as Harry made to help him move off him. He kissed his cheek sweetly. "Shite, we made a lot of noise. Oops."

"They're down in the kitchen, don't worry, they're not stupid," Harry pushed the sweaty strands of hair away from Malfoy's face. The damp tendrils stuck at cute, odd angles. He grinned at him and planted a brief kiss on the reddened lips. Malfoy made a 'mmm' noise into it, tired. "We should go and grab a shower or something before we go back," Harry said, bemused by the sudden practical thought.

"Hmm, come on then," Malfoy parted their bodies carefully. Harry felt a sharp sense of loss, the blow softened by the playful smirk directed in his direction as Malfoy pulled him out of the chair and against his sticky half-clothed body for another deep kiss. They parted regretfully, before instantly melting into snickers again as they hastily collected the strewn pieces of clothing. Malfoy chucked Harry's shirt at his head as he struggled to pull his jeans and boxers back up from around his ankles. He swatted him before catching his arm and licking the smirk off his face.

888

That night, as Harry lay in the darkness with the warm weight of Malfoy in his arms, he felt a curious sense of relaxation. Thin wisps of moonlight filtered across the bed and glinted blond hair to silver as it lay in rippling curtains across his chest, pale fingertips idly caressing a nipple and some errant chest hair. They hadn't made love again today, but then they didn't need to. Harry had already made up his mind to be the consummate lover, conscious of Malfoy's needs, whether that was to be more reserved, as they were now, or wildly passionate, as it had been in the library a few hours ago. He smiled into the gloom as the memory spun through his mind, and planted an impromptu kiss to the top of the blond head, breaking the silent spell.

Malfoy craned his neck up at him and smiled before briefly pecking his lips and nestling with more conviction into the curve of his neck and chin. Harry felt the hand on his chest tighten imperceptibly, claiming and re-asserting territory. "How did your exams go?" Malfoy murmured, the movement of his jaw brushing Harry's collarbone in a pleasantly familiar way.

"Hmm," Harry shifted his legs so that they were aligned more comfortably. His arms were wrapping Malfoy's torso securely. He sighed, trying to think back. "Well, I think overall not bad. I'll pass everything, but whether they're good passes… Divination was the killer. Crystal ball crap, we had to do it for OWLs as well and it's impossible. I think I said there would be a long drought in the 'physical and spiritual worlds' or something like that."

Malfoy chuckled. The tremors reverberated into Harry's chest bone. "So you made it up, basically."

"Basically, yeah," Harry said humorously, "but that was definitely the worst case. Even Potions wasn't _that_ bad…"

"Mmm, yes I think that one might be in the bag. I'll be really annoyed if I don't get an O for that after all the work we did. It was transfiguration that was the killer for me."

"Really? I thought that one had the easiest written paper. Though the practical was a bit off. My clock still had whiskers…"

"Yes," Malfoy planted an absentminded kiss to Harry's Adam's Apple, "Mine looked like a normal clock but just as I was getting up, it chimed and let out a really loud miaow! McGonagall was invigilating for me and she definitely noticed it. Didn't the written paper have that god-awful question on non-magical with magical animal transformation? That was a killer I couldn't think of anything to write at all."

"Oh yeah, that one was a bit much, but I managed to get a couple of paragraphs down. D.a.d.a was the best exam for me."

"Hmm, I'd say arithmancy, though that section in the charms written paper on sensory charms was a bit of a god-send. Although you'll be pleased to know that I refrained from writing that I'd tested the taste sensory charms by licking the back of my boyfriend's throat…"

Harry laughed, a flush of warmth suddenly washing his body as Malfoy referred to him as his boyfriend. Said Malfoy moved up as if sensing his thoughts, and captured his mouth in a soft, comfortable kiss. Harry leaned up into it. He was tempted to turn them over so that he could be on top of Malfoy and control the kiss, but restrained himself, instinctively aware that there was no rush, that there was time to build a foundation for something even more serious than what they already had. And that he wanted to. He parted his lips to allow Malfoy to deepen the kiss, slow and sensual, the Slytherin's hands caressing his bare sides in a soothing manner.

After a few moments, the kiss died away into soft nipping pecks over his lips and cheeks. The tip of Malfoy's nose brushed his own sweetly. Harry felt as though he was sinking into the bed and would never need to leave it. He grinned up at Malfoy's expression, softly smiling down on him, eyes sleepy and hazy with comfortable levels of desire and affection. "You are staying here, aren't you?"

Malfoy smiled, pleased. "You won't get rid of me easily, Potter."

"It's taken a while, hasn't it?"

"We'll get by."

Harry relaxed into the pillows and focused harder on his lover's face as the moon went behind a cloud. He needed to get contact lenses. Maybe there would be time at some point to do something about that. He tried to think of something to say that wouldn't sound sappy, but in the end he pulled Malfoy down to kiss him again instead.

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_Well there we go, please review with any comments and criticisms, _

_skinnyrita xxx_


	14. Chapter 14

_Thank you for all the very encouraging reviews. I hope you didn't feel that you had to wait too long for the update. There are two or three chapters remaining... _

_Enjoy and please leave your comments, good or bad. _

_Disclaimer: HP not mine. _

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**The Last Malfoy.**

"Do you ever feel… guilty?"

"All the time," Harry waggled his eyebrows at Malfoy suggestively, wiggling his legs into a more comfortable position with a heap of Slytherin lying on his chest. Malfoy cleared his throat quietly and stared down at their linked fingers, shifting his thumb to stroke Harry's. Harry frowned at him. "What for?"

"I don't know," Malfoy said, cautiously. He rubbed his lips together as he habitually did if there was a chance he had something potentially difficult to relate. Harry tilted his head down, trying to catch the blonde's eye. Malfoy sucked in one side of his cheek and dropped Harry's hand. "For being gay, I suppose."

Harry shut his eyes. Malfoy was doing it again and it was the thing he hated most about him right now; this self-loathing he seemed to have picked up from somewhere. A small tremor, a chilly nip, passed through him and he flinched. Malfoy felt it and rolled off him onto his back. The cold night air hit Harry's skin and he yanked the bedding up to his armpits. "Don't do this," he said. Stated. Flatly.

"You're the last Potter, you have to understand what I mean," said Malfoy, obliviously, "and now I'm the last Malfoy too… if I never marry, the name's going to die. The family tree will just… end, won't it?"

"Don't you have any family on your father's side?" Harry was going through the motions, but he felt hollow.

"No. Have you… got any Potter relations?"

"I have no idea. Does this conversation have a purpose?" Tight voice.

"Yes. What would I do, I'll have to marry at some point, take a wife, have an heir, but I'd still be gay… I couldn't be with a man, we couldn't adopt, there would be no Malfoy blood… and there would be one less pureblood family…" Malfoy sounded upset as these thoughts occurred to him. Harry rolled onto his side, his back to him. "Potter?"

"Fuck off."

"Look, I didn't mean, I mean, I like being with you, I want to be with you… but I was thinking about it the other day in the tapestry room and there's loads of people on my mother's side to continue the name of Black, but no one but me to expand the Malfoy name… I'm trying to think practically. If I have a future, that might have to be it."

There was no movement from Harry's unfriendly back, though the noise of a shaky breath was loud after Malfoy's whispered explanations. "You'd be with someone else? With a woman?"

"It's my duty," said Malfoy, confused. How could Harry not understand? Didn't he want to continue his father's name? Their families had some ancient traditions, could they be passed over simply because one was homosexual? How would he bear such guilt?

"_Duty_? But you're not… you don't sleep with women!" Harry hissed, vehemently. "You sleep with _me_!"

"But… don't you feel guilty? At all?"

Harry rolled back to face him. His face was scrunched and hurt. A small pang flittered on Malfoy's chest. "No, I _don't_ feel guilty. I _won't_. I'm gay, there's nothing wrong with it. I am gay, I sleep with men, I sleep with _you_ and I want you, and a love being with you, and _there's nothing wrong with that_! Why are you saying this?"

"But, I just…"

"Go away Draco."

"But Harry…"

"Please go away."

Draco slept in his own room that night. Harry lay awake until three, cold and swamped by double bed.

888

"Harry, have you and Malfoy, um… had a fight or something?"

Hermione put a plate of bacon on the kitchen table and released it gingerly as though sharp movements would provoke Harry into one of his rare explosions of temper. Harry sighed and set a bunch of mugs on the table next to the eggs. They had a rather full house for breakfast so a fry-up had been the best choice. He speared a sausage and transferred it to Hermione's plate to appease her. A few odd aurors started filtering in and grabbing plates. Harry rubbed a hand briefly over his eyes as though he could erase the dark circles around his eyes. He didn't want to use a glamour charm or something to conceal them. A part of him wanted Malfoy to notice them and feel… what was the word… oh God, there had to be something more appropriate than 'guilty'. If he were going to answer Hermione's question, however, he'd have to do so quickly before someone more assertive walked in.

"He's going to leave me, I think. Well, obviously he can't _leave_-leave, but … he said he feels '_guilty_' and thinks he should get _married_. To a woman," he added, just to clarify.

"Oh, Harry…" Hermione covered his hand with hers briefly and shot him a sympathetic look before withdrawing again. The aurors seated themselves at the other end of the table. "What did you say?" she whispered.

"I…" Harry ran a hand through his hair, flustered. "What could I do… I told him to leave and he went upstairs. I don't know what to say."

At that moment, Ron, Lupin and various others who appeared and the table started filling up. Malfoy was not amongst them. Harry thought of going to look for him, as he knew that the blond didn't enjoy sitting amongst the aurors, but then the thought passed and he decided that actually he'd rather not see him. He didn't know what to think about the odd, if brief, conversation of the previous night. Thinking about whatever that had been about was confusing and painful and had made him feel like crying. He had managed not to, but it was a close thing when he had been alone and in bed wishing there was another body next to him. Not just another body. Malfoy's. Draco's. He didn't know where Malfoy's guilt was coming from. As he cut bits of bacon up and pushed them about on his plate, he remembered back to before the exams, when Malfoy had told him what he thought his parents might make of his sexuality.

Draco finally appeared and sat down diagonally opposite him. Harry glanced at him and their eyes met immediately. The Slytherin looked very uncomfortable and his eyes were rimmed red. Harry felt a savage stab of pleasure before it was quenched by a wave of despair. "Harry," the blond whispered, practically inaudibly. Harry gazed back at him. Malfoy lowered his eyes for a moment. When he looked back, it was to see Harry disappearing out of the kitchen door.

He found him in the tapestry room.

"Potter?"

"Malfoy," Harry murmured, his back to him. Cool fingers traced ancient threads. Lucius – Narcissa – Draco Malfoy. Then no more. There were a few ancient Potters on the tree, he knew, but they petered out before they even would have got close to reaching James. He put his finger against the name Draco and tried to imagine another name next to it. He couldn't. It left a bitter and salty taste in his mouth. Then the salt was on his face. He leaned his forehead against the knobbly surface.

He felt Malfoy's hands come round to rest on his waist, gentle, but firm. Harry's face turned slightly to acknowledge him but he couldn't see his expression. "Why do you keep doing this to me?" he asked, hoarsely. "Why can't you just decide whether you want me or not and just let it happen? I _hate_ this!"

"Please," Malfoy's arms encircled him a little further, trying to appease. "Please, I thought you would understand."

"Well I _don't_ understand!" Harry jerked himself out of his grip and spiralled around, allowing his lover to see his stricken and streaked face. Malfoy swallowed; panic fluttering at the very top of his chest. "I don't understand how you can be with me, yes, on and off, but on and off for nearly…" he paused to work it out, "oh my God, eight, maybe nine _months_? Has this been some sort of filler for you? I want us to work, I want you, I want you _long term_ and completely with me, and when it's safe enough I want to tell people! I'd let the Daily fucking Prophet run a special on it if they had the urge! Jesus Christ, Malfoy! How do you think I feel when you suddenly say, after letting me make love to you, I might add, that this is just something for you until you have your real life and get fucking married!"

He stopped, chest heaving, suddenly taking note of his surroundings and realising he'd inadvertently shoved Malfoy into the wall. The grey eyes sparked at him for a moment: a memory of the past violence between them. To be perfectly honest with himself, sometimes Harry missed it. He stepped away quickly and looked towards the open door, hoping no one who shouldn't be listening had overheard them.

"Don't you dare go," Malfoy warned him. Where it was usually a turn on, right now his aristocratic, chilly tone grated on Harry, and the hands that had shot out and gripped his shirt to punctuate the order. He prised the grasping fingers away from him, more gently than he felt like doing.

"You need to decide what it is you want, and mean it," said Harry, quietly. "This isn't a passing game for me, you've made sure of that, remember? Just… just come and find me when you've thought. Either way."

Harry had hoped that the 'either way' would take a day to resolve and that by eleven pm he'd hear the tale-tale creak of Malfoy sneaking through his bedroom door and sliding into bed beside him, but he didn't. By the sixth night of lying alone staring at the ceiling and trying to bore his eyes through to the bedroom above, he wondered whether the either way was not going to fall in his favour after all. His heart ached, as it had done since he had passed the tapestry room earlier that day, only to be confronted with the image of Malfoy's forlorn expression as his fingers traced the threads spelling his father's name and pressed the tips against them: "Tell me what to do, you always knew what to _do_…" but in the furthest recesses of his mind he knew that Lucius had not known what to do. Any man who followed so willingly in the path of the Dark Lord must have lost his way long ago. His Dark Mark tingled under his full sleeves, which were beginning to irk him as the seasons progressed into summer.

Harry had pulled back from the scene silently, but inside his emotions were screaming.

On the seventh night he couldn't stand it any more. Breaking all of their unwritten rules, he crept up to the second floor and went and knocked on Malfoy's bedroom door. He waited in the draughty corridor. As soon as he was 18 and took full ownership of the house, he would definitely be working out how to get more appropriate heating set up. Suddenly there was a click-clunk noise of a latch lock being released, and the door opened inwards. He breathed in and out in nervous succession and looked up. Malfoy was in the doorway looking rumpled, breathtakingly so, wearing a loose t-shirt and a pair of old cotton boxer shorts. Harry wanted to reach out and wrap his arms so securely around him that he would never want to leave. Instead, he stood on the threshold, feet frozen to the chilly floorboards.

"Can I come in?" he mumbled, when it seemed as though Malfoy was going to simply stare at him all night.

"Um, yes, sorry…"

The room was smaller than Harry's and had a queen-sized bed that was smaller than his and looked oddly narrow in comparison. It was also less furnished. It felt strange to be in here despite the fact that he thought he might have stayed in this room himself at some point when Sirius was still alive.

"You haven't made a decision yet," he blurted, trying not to look at Malfoy.

Malfoy sat on the edge of the bed as though on autopilot. "I have. Only, I thought you didn't want to see me, so I didn't come down."

Harry felt a wave of nausea grip him. He thought he might throw up. He could feel bile building down in his gut. "So that's it," he could barely form the words. "You don't want me. We're finished," a whisper. His throat was so tight he could barely breathe. He thought he might keel over. He sat on the bed quickly before he could fall down. Unfortunately that meant that he very nearly fell onto Malfoy's lap. "Draco, I…" his voice was as tight as the creases in his scrunched face. He would not cry.

"You called me Draco," said Draco, stupidly. "You only ever call me that in bed." He glanced down at Harry's hand resting on the bedcovers, and put his own gently inside its curve without clenching, just resting there.

"You know, when my father was alive I was schooled in our family history, our ancestry. What was expected of me was expected of all the men in our family. And then when I realised I was gay I was terrified because I thought, Merlin, I'm not what's expected of the heir. Pureblood high class culture is so stoic, you have to follow all these rules and act a certain way to certain people, and you can't do anything without being judged in terms of marriage material and whether you've been 'soiled' in some way for your future spouse…" Harry listened quietly. He should have listened before.

"Being gay… that was not an option," Draco continued. "When we… when I remembered that I'd slept with you, my first reaction was panic. You'd taken what I had always been told I had to reserve for my wedding night, understand? But I was so tired of being gay and not acting on it, I wanted you to fully take me, so I made you do it, and it felt like I was finally free to do what I wanted. It felt so good that it had to be a sin. I realised that if anyone in the circles my family mixed with ever found out, I'd be defiled forever. No pureblood witch of a good family would ever marry me; even if she wanted to her family wouldn't allow her to. When I laid with you I had to be sure it wasn't just for sex, that there was something else, that there could be something else. Being intimate and sexual on a whim… where I come from there is no such thing. When Moody killed my father, he killed a part of me, you see? It was hard for my parents to have me, but if they tried maybe they could have had more sons. It wouldn't have been the same as their firstborn, me, continuing the family name, but it would be… I could be less guilty about being gay. Maybe they would have accepted me if I'd come out. I'll never know now."

Harry sat very still, listening.

"Yesterday I looked at the Blacks' tree and saw the Malfoy line. Generations and generations of them had only one male heir. And I wondered… how many of them were gay." Draco licked his dry lips and swallowed some saliva to help the words come out easier. "I am gay," he said. He repeated it for good measure. "I am gay. I always will be and I'll never want a woman, and if I married I would love my children and maybe even love my wife, but never in the way a husband should. We would never be happy. I'd always want a man and I'd wonder what life could have been like if I'd done just what I wanted and had a man beside me and not my wife. I look at all my ancestors and some of the things they have done and I start to think that it's good that my name will end with me."

"The name Malfoy will end with me," he repeated. Harry choked. Draco turned his head and looked at him but Harry was still staring at his knees, though whether he could focus on them through the unshed haze of tears he was refusing to shed, he had no idea. "I'm so sorry I made you wait, but I had to be sure. This was not as easy for me as it was for you and I feel like such a shit for not letting you know what was going on. Harry, I choose you."

888

Draco pulled the bedcovers over them to block out the morning sunshine already streaming through his windows. He rolled over on top of Harry and braced his arms either side of his head. The yellow light that softly penetrated the white sheets illuminated their faces: a private world. They hadn't made love the previous night. Harry had held him in silence until they both drifted off, and at around five am they had drowsily regained consciousness long enough to scramble properly into the bed, the unexpected narrowness of the frame forcing them to lie spooned together, Draco's hand splayed across the brunette's stomach.

He tilted his head and dipped his tongue into Harry's mouth slowly, tasting. The kiss broke after a moment and he touched his forehead to the Gryffindor's briefly, eyes falling shut. 'Thank you God,' he thought. For such an impulsive person, Harry could be surprisingly patient when it mattered.

"This is what you want, isn't it?" Harry murmured. More affirming than questioning.

Draco smiled, expression reactions still slowed from sleep. "This is what I want. This, us, you. Hmmm…" they kissed again, more deeply this time. One of Draco's hands slid down to trace Harry's collarbone and then press the fingertips in soothing circles over a nipple through his pyjama shirt. He smirked into the brunette's mouth as a sleepy mew of desire escaped him. "Ssh, Lupin sleeps on this floor, he'll hear you."

Harry broke the kiss. "Are you going to feel guilty about this?" he looked so stricken that Draco had to smile to reassure him.

"Never again. I promise." He glanced down the length of their bodies and slipped his hand under Harry's top. "Do you want to…?"

Harry searched his face and suggested that they lie there together for a while. Draco sighed contentedly and draped himself over his body like a human blanket. No rush. They weren't going anywhere. He lay still for a while, feeling the familiar sensation of Harry's fingers threading through his hair in soft motions. He didn't feel guilty. He felt relieved. He trailed his fingers absently under the brunette's t-shirt again and rubbed little circles through the soft hairs before slipping down to the hollow beneath a jutting hipbone and stroking the silky patch of skin there. The bedcovers enveloping them were covering them right over their heads in a warm cocoon, which was steadily filling up with more light as the sun continued to move across the windows. The morning was perfect. He craned his neck back and planted a lingering kiss to the underside of Harry's chin. Then another one. Harry groaned pleasurably and Draco dipped his hand a little lower into his pyjama bottoms.

"Mmpfh-hah," said Harry. Draco grinned and heaved up a bit so that he was over him again.

"Make that noise again."

Harry's face twitched in confusion. "What noise?" Draco smirked and moved his fingers again. "Mmpfh-hah! Draco!"

"Hmm yes that's the one…" he bent and kissed him, deeply. Trying to show him, in any way, just how much he …well, just how much he meant to him.

"Mmm.."

Draco chuckled, "shh, thin walls…"

"Oh bollocks to Lupin… mmmpfh, can I touch you?"

"Bollocks to Lupin, maybe, but Granger sleeps in the next room you know."

"Okay I'll be good. Come here…"

They settled more sideways on in a comfortable position to touch each other. It felt quite decadent, in a way, to do this in bed under the covers. Mutual caresses were usually the hurried province of the shower. The bed was for making love and lying entwined. This was exploratory and relaxing. They kissed leisurely. Harry was always slightly more demanding in that respect, but it made Draco feel good that the Gryffindor still maintained a possessiveness around him.

"Ohhh… Ha-Harry…"

"Shh…" they snickered into each other's mouths trying to block the soft gasps and moans, although they were thankfully still not in the habit of being too vocal between the sheets. As their actions got a little more desperate Harry ended up a little more on top and Draco finished gasping frantically into his mouth. They collapsed bonelessly together, panting slightly. After a few moments Draco stuck his hand blindly out of the covers and felt about for his wand to scourgify a little of the stickiness off their skin and bedclothes. They snuggled together again. He didn't think he ever wanted to get up again.

888

"He's falling in love with him, isn't he?"

June progressed into July and Harry's birthday was on the horizon. Ron and Hermione were sitting in a new swing-seat near the back door of number twelve. Hermione was lying with her knees up to support the book she was reading, her head in Ron's lap as he perused some reports Charlie had sent him on work he'd been doing for the Order, of which they were now all fully paid up members, although for Harry that had mainly meant remaining put at headquarters. Draco was still acting the part of the perfect Death Eater spy. At present, however, he was standing perfectly balanced on his broomstick, hovering level with Harry who was trying to find a more secure footing on his firebolt. The pair was trying to work out a complex new seeker move they'd found in Quidditch Monthly. Harry pitched forwards, unbalanced, and Draco quickly shot forward and steadied him. They could hear Harry's shout of laughter and surprise from here. He reached up and pulled a heli-seed out of the blond hair.

Hermione half-closed her book and studied them. "Which one, Harry or Malfoy?"

Ron frowned. He had been referring to Harry, but now he wasn't sure. "Both."

"Would that be so bad?"

"I don't know. What shall we get Harry for his birthday?"

"Lube and a pair of handcuffs?"

"Hermione!"

She laughed up at his outraged expression. "Joking… well, a cake obviously. Maybe we could have a party… you know in the muggle world turning eighteen is really important, Harry probably still sets quite a bit of store by it. Maybe we could get him one of those books about the year you were born, one for the muggle world and one for the wizarding one…"

Ron rolled his eyes, "yeah… sounds riveting."

"Well what do you think then?"

"I dunno… I thought maybe a pet or something. Like a kneazle or something. It can't be fun being cooped up here."

"But… he has got Malfoy."

"Hmmpf. What about tickets to see the Weird Sisters or something. For all of us. We could ask dad if he knows anyone to get a good deal or something. We could go polyjuiced or something…"

"Oooh, that could work, I like that idea. Sounds a bit expensive though…"

"Two weeks to think about it."

Those two weeks passed faster than anticipated. They had made sure Harry was tucked up in bed nice and early the night before the big day – Draco's doing, obviously. He awoke at dawn and lay staring at the ceiling. He felt perfectly content, and turned into the curve of Draco's warm body on instinct, an arm curling round his waist. The body stirred and he heard a sleepy moan above him before a kiss dropped onto the crown of his head.

"Happy Birthday."

"Mmmm… thanks…" he pressed his lips to the blonde's side, inhaling his skin's morning scent. Musky with heat and slight sweat, masculine, and with a lingering hint of aftershave and deodorant. His scent was more pronounced now it was summer, and Harry could almost wrap himself in it. Draco grabbed his waist and pushed him over so that he was under him. Harry let out a breathless gasp of laughter.

"So, Birthday Boy…what shall I give you?" Draco quirked an eyebrow. Harry's grin froze in anticipation at his purring tone. "Maybe a nice Birthday Bath…" he wriggled down, pulling Harry's boxers down his thighs as he did so. Harry breathed in quickly. It was very rare that they went down on each other, but there was no denying that Draco knew what he was doing when he went for it. "Mmmpfh-hah! Nugh, Draco, shit…" he shut his eyes and threaded a hand in blond hair, the other clutched in the sheets.

"Harry, are you up yet?"

They froze. Draco smirked at him and flicked his tongue cruelly. Harry sucked in a breath. The knock came at the door again.

"Um, yeah, I'm up…" in more ways than one… "What do you want?"

"Are you coming down? There're people here wanting to give you presents!"

Draco pulled off him briefly. "Granger, would you please fuck off? He's busy getting his birthday bumps."

There was a hissed conversation outside the door. "Um, we'll be in the kitchen… sorry Harry."

"I'll be down once I'm dressed," Harry called, croaking the last word as Draco bent his head again. "Ah-!"

"Ahem, sorry," Draco shifted so that he had less chance of getting his teeth in the way. He smoothed his palms over the hairy thighs to secure Harry's hips before carefully laving him with the flat of his tongue. Harry's hand disappeared from his hair and in his peripheral vision he saw it grasp the sheets on the other side. From the sighing gasps and murmured expletives filtering down to him, he could tell that Harry was enjoying it. He slowed down, drawing out the pleasure although he was conscious that keeping them too long might provoke adverse reactions downstairs. Harry murmured something along the lines of 'oh god…' and he focused all his attention back to pleasuring him.

Harry let go of the sheet and rubbed his hands over his face. "Oh my God that was amazing. Happy Birthday to me." Draco laughed and grinned down on him. Harry pulled him towards him, a jerking movement making the blond bark a surprised laugh before his mouth fell against the Gryffindor's and he opened his mouth. A jolt of desire coursed through him at the thought of Harry tasting himself on his tongue. He groaned and pulled away.

"We should finish this in the shower. Come on," he tugged the brunette reluctantly out of bed and stuck his head out of the door, checking briefly before pulling him into the bathroom across the hall and locking the door between them.

888

Harry found him in the tapestry room, but he wasn't worried anymore about what that might mean. "Hey, sorry about that, couldn't get away. Ron and Hermione have got tickets for the Weird Sisters for all of us if you're interested."

Draco turned round and grinned at him. "Cool, when?"

"Not for a while I don't think. Whenever their tour's coming to London. What're you hiding there?"

"Nothing. Just a couple of, um, presents for you," Draco said, blushing. Harry stared at him for a moment and then scanned the tapestry frantically.

Lucius Malfoy – Narcissa Black Draco Malfoy – Harry James Potter 

Harry shot a hand out and touched the threads. He felt like his chest was going to burst. "How did you…I mean…" Draco wrapped his arms around his waist and planted a kiss on his temple. Harry leaned back against him, still touching the tapestry.

"It's not… I mean, you know I'm not asking you to…um. I wanted to say. No guilt. And no regrets." He wasn't expressing himself very well.

Harry wiped his eyes and turned in his arms, hugging him. His head fit perfectly in the junction of Draco's neck and shoulder. "Thank you. You gave me the best present."

Draco shut his eyes and rubbed his cheek against the soft thatch of black hair. "There's one other one. Close your eyes."

"What are you doing?" Harry said, curiously, eyes closing obediently. Draco's lips pressed against his and he opened his mouth to accept the kiss. "Oh!" his eyes flew open. Something cold and of some sort of metal had dropped under his tongue. He put a hand to his mouth and stared at what was in his palm. Stunned, he looked up.

Draco licked his lips nervously. "I don't want you to get too excited or anything, I mean, it's not for, you know. It's the Malfoy signet ring. My father gave it to me on my eighteenth and it's a tradition for the next of kin to receive it on their eighteenth and I wanted you to wear it now, I mean, you know only if you want to-" his nervous tirade was abruptly silenced by Harry leaning forwards and kissing him gently. As he did so, a swift movement transferred the signet ring onto his ring finger. They looked down at it silently. Draco grinned shyly at him. "So, it's okay?"

"It's perfect. Thank you." I think I'm falling in love with you. "Thank you." He kissed him again, more demandingly.

Draco snickered. "How do you feel about christening the couch?"

"That couch handed down by generations of your ancient ancestors?"

"Mmm-hmmm…"

"Well it is my birthday –ha!" he fell onto his back beneath the blond who had already yanked his own shirt over his head.

"Door, Harry, door," he commanded urgently, whipping the belt out of his trousers and reaching for the brunette's. Harry located his wand and brandished it in the direction of the door.

"Corelloportus!" he rasped. Draco laughed as the door sealed itself rather completely, with a huge band of substance immediately locking the whole door into its frame.

"Make as much noise as you want, it _is_ your birthday…" they grabbed each other and struggled to tear off all the remaining clothing, making the ancient couch creak in complaint. Once Harry's shirt was open Draco started pressing hot open-mouthed kisses all over it. Harry was murmuring various versions of 'oh my God' and 'fuck…' as they writhed together. The signet ring glinted on his finger and he caught a glance of it as it caught the light. He gasped and hurried to unzip himself. Draco rose off him and practically ripped his jeans off. He bit him possessively on his inner thigh before moving back up to capture Harry's mouth again.

They switched positions as quickly as possible without falling off the narrow couch. Harry chucked Malfoy's trousers over his shoulder, followed by his boxers. "Ah, yes, make love to me," Draco gasped, grabbing Harry by the neck and pulling him over him again. "Oh, _God_…" Harry was stretching him and the hand bracing him on the couch was sporting the glint of the signet ring and it was perfect, it was what he wanted, finally what they both wanted. He didn't care if anyone heard them. Not today. "Yes, yes please now, _please_ now…"

"Ngah, God, Draco, yes…" Harry pulled one slim leg over his shoulder. Draco made a 'hyy-huh' noise, followed by a breathless 'yes…' he licked the blonde's bottom lip before capturing his mouth messily, their tongues stroking each other in a familiar rhythm. They were gasping and panting and moving and thrusting. He could feel sweat beading on the Slytherin's chest as he swept a hand down it in pursuit of the other man's hardness, producing a muffled wail to expel into his mouth from its partner throat. They weren't going to last. It didn't matter.

"_Fuck_, uuuhummm…" Draco shuddered beneath him and he gasped into the pale sweaty neck in completion. "Hmmm…" Draco pushed a hand through his hair and stroked the nape of his neck. "Having a good birthday then I take it?"

Harry grinned and had just opened his mouth to reply when a firm knocking on the door made them jolt into each other. Draco let out a gasp of pain and Harry pulled out hurriedly before he could hurt him more. "God, sorry."

"No, it's-"

"Harry, I want to talk to you immediately." Lupin's voice. Harry froze and stared at Draco, expression stricken. He did not sound happy. There was a pause. Then: "I am giving the two of you one minute to get _dressed_ and get out here, or so help me _I am_ _coming in_."

"Shit," Draco whispered. A few seconds passed before they simultaneously scrambled off the couch and began pulling on their clothes as hastily as possible. "What do you think he'll do?"

"I don't care." Harry turned round and took his hands in his. "I'd never give you up," he said, earnestly. "Never."

"I know."

"Okay." Harry checked his clothes again. Draco reached out and fondly smoothed his shirt collar before taking his hand. "Let's face the music then."

Remus turned back to the door as it opened. His face was tight and thunderous, but also cheerless. He looked down at their linked fingers and noted the signet ring. On the wrong hand.

"Come downstairs, both of you. We'll talk in the kitchen."

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_Slight cliffhanger, sorry. _

_You are all angels for waiting so long without flaming! _

_until next time... _

_skinnyrita xxx_


	15. Chapter 15

_Well here it is. The penultimate chapter. This is the beginning of the end. Now, don't cry, that's it...phew. There is only the final chapter and probably an epilogue to go. I am probably going to fail my degree but I couldn't hold this chapter in. It's a long chapter, I had a lot I had planned that I wanted to fit in, and some of the most important scenes have been afforded even more detail than first intended as I wanted to do as well as possible... I hope you like it. A lot of people might be withdrawing their death threats... your chapter is here. _

_Enjoy. _

_Disclaimer: this is fanfiction, and as such is just a wee bit of fun without monetary gain. The only commission I work for is the critiques reviewers give me from the little review button at the end of this chapter (hint). _

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**Pinnacle.**

**The Penultimate Chapter to 'One Night Out on Good Behaviour'.**

**skinnyrita**

_[A The Talk _

"How long exactly has this been going on?"

Lupin paced the kitchen of Grimmauld Place. Thankfully, everyone else who shouldn't be eavesdropping on the confrontation had been dispatched back to the Burrow after breakfast, as Mrs Weasley was up to her elbows in cooking for Harry's Birthday dinner later that evening, and she had a rather ambitious cake to ice and set. The twins had gone to work, as had the aurors and various other tag-alongs. Harry moved surreptitiously a little further in front of Draco, just in case the encounter was going to turn out unsavoury. An image of Draco standing between himself and Ginny flashed across the forefront of his mind.

"How long's what been going on?" he hedged, although really he was just killing time. The game was most definitely up.

Lupin sat down abruptly and crossed his legs looking harassed. "Don't play games with me Harry they will not pass. How long have you two been… let's call it 'intimate', with each other?"

Harry and Draco glanced at each other. 'A bloody long time,' Harry thought. "When did you figure it out?" he asked, instead.

"I've had my suspicions since Easter," said Lupin, baldly, "but it wasn't until just now that I realised I'd been correct. However, it's been going on since before then, hasn't it? When? Since Malfoy moved in here?" The boys didn't look at each other. Harry was gazing at a spot over Lupin's shoulder, and Draco seemed very interested in the cuffs of his shirt. "Christmas?" No reply. Lupin leaned forwards looking agitated. "_Before_ Christmas! How long before Christmas, Hallow-sodding-een?"

"Yes, Halloween," said Draco, quickly. There was no need for Lupin to know anything about the shaky shag-encounters early on, and he supposed Halloween was a more established mark for them. "But we haven't – I mean we weren't -"

"- We weren't together at the time we were moved to Grimmauld Place. We were, um, broken up for about… well a long time."

Lupin groaned and put his head in his hands. "Sit down boys." They sat. Harry felt a little easier now that Lupin wasn't shouting. "Look, you understand that this isn't on, right? The two of you were supposed to be here under supervised protection, mainly supposedly with me, and I know I should've been checking up on you a bit more but had I realised… there was a lot of other stuff going on, understand?" Harry flicked his eyes to his face before readdressing his own clasped hands, hit by a wave of guilt. "This whole thing was supposed to be a school-provided outlet, not some excuse for… I don't know why I didn't see it coming, I mean you told me yourself you were gay Harry, I just never… you two, you didn't _like_ each other… if it had been Ron and Hermione, well then I'd never have… oh Merlin this is bad. Malfoy, you're going to have to be moved to another safe house."

"No, no," Harry interrupted urgently, as Draco also made a noise of dismay, "Please, Remus (using Lupin's first name seemed to have the desired affect as he looked up at Harry immediately), no one needs to know about this, I mean we've kept it a secret this far and if anyone did find out we could say it began after the exams and therefore after school… and we're both eighteen now anyway as of today so we should be allowed to do what we want, right?" He paused. Lupin was looking at him with a faintly disappointed look on his face, but not anger. "Please don't send Draco away." Draco put a hand on his knee under the table.

"Do you have any idea how dangerous this is?" Lupin asked them, seriously. "Not that your position isn't as precarious enough as it stands, Malfoy, but you're both putting each other at considerable risk in the war."

"We know," said Draco, strongly. His fingers tightened a little on Harry's knee. "But I'm not giving him up because of fear."

"Yeah, he'll do it of his own accord next time I do something stupid," Harry quipped. Lupin glanced at the signet ring on Harry's left hand. He hadn't been wearing it that morning.

"I'm sorry to spoil your birthday Harry," he said, "but you must understand the seriousness of the situation. I'll have to think about this. And the Order _will_ have to be informed eventually."

"Not yet," said Harry, panicked.

Lupin shook his head, "Not yet, no, but this revelation changes everything. It may be a great deal more perilous for Malfoy to continue spying for us. I shall have to consult with Severus and try to find an outlet to allow you to… disappear somehow."

"You won't tell him why, will you?" Draco felt a little odd about Snape knowing exactly what he was up to with Harry. Although he suspected that his mentor had guessed his preferences, there was a huge difference between having these feelings and acting on them with the bane of his schooldays.

Lupin steepled his fingers and gritted his teeth. "Ahem. One more thing. And believe me, this is infinitely more embarrassing for me: Do you practice safe sex?" Draco choked. Harry turned crimson and stared at his hands again. "Do you use condoms?" Lupin clarified.

"Yes, we know what you meant, Professor," said Harry, quickly.

Lupin looked between them expectantly. "Well?"

"No," Harry whispered.

"NO?" Lupin exclaimed, loudly. "Did either of you learn anything at school? I know for a fact that you get The Talk at the beginning of second year, and I know from experience that Minerva's delivery of it is rather thorough, Harry."

"It's not his fault," Draco said, tightly. He took one of Harry's hands and gripped it. This was beyond embarrassing. "We did at first but we stopped because… I don't like them. That's enough to know." This was said very quickly, and it was true; after taking Draco's virginity using protection, and once or twice afterwards, both of them had forgotten to produce one – probably on Halloween when they had been drunk, and he had found that he had enjoyed feeling Harry release inside him infinitely more and had suggested they do without. It wasn't hard to dispense with the condoms. Draco had once wanked wearing one to see what it would feel like, and coming into the phallic equivalent of a rubber glove had not been his cup of tea at all, so he imagined that Harry hadn't found it that pleasant either. It wasn't as though he was going to impregnate Draco anyway.

"We're monogamous," Harry added, quickly, as it looked at though Lupin was about to point out that the purpose of condoms wasn't because one liked to wear them, "we're not going to give each other anything."

Lupin glanced at the signet ring again. He knew what the ring symbolised even if Harry hadn't grasped the full implication of Draco's bequeathing it to him. If Draco saw Harry now as his direct next of kin, then the blond must be serious indeed about their union. "Have you considered this properly? What about HIV and other STDs that are invisible? I don't want to be a damp rag on this, I really don't, but I was responsible for you both in this house, and believe me, there are worse people you could be talking to about this. If it helps, you may have already guessed that I was in a relationship with Sirius in the year before his death, and we had to consider all these things as well… though I suspect we had a larger back catalogue."

Harry blushed. "I had guessed, but thanks for telling me. I know you don't like mentioning him."

"That doesn't matter, Harry. Have either of you been tested for any sexual diseases or for HIV? If you haven't I suggest you do so as soon as possible. I'm sorry, but not knowing will not give you peace of mind."

Harry cleared his throat and glanced at Draco, who looked rather frozen. He was the only person the blond had slept with. "I um, got tested for HIV and stuff at a muggle clinic last summer after I lost my virginity and they all came back negative. We always used condoms… I haven't been checked since but the next person I slept with was Draco and we did use protection at first, so I don't think I can have passed anything on."

"I see. Well thank you for being honest with me Harry, I'm sorry I'm being so candid, but this is so important, understand?"

"Yes."

"Malfoy?"

Draco swallowed. He had been listening to the exchange attentively but did not like the idea of giving Lupin the details of his sex life. That sort of information should only be shared with Harry. He felt the brunette's thumb stroke over his knuckles and realised he was probably hurting him, he was gripping his hand so tightly. He unclenched his fingers a little and said quietly, and with as much dignity as he could muster after the comment about not liking condoms: "The only person I've been with is Harry," he said, stiltedly. Lupin nodded immediately and didn't ask anything else about it. He knew the pressures expected of pureblooded heirs and since Draco had been an only child the expectations of him must have been colossal. Of course he had been a virgin. He had just had to be sure.

"Alright, boys, thank you, that's enough torture for now. Please think about what I've said. I'm not going to even presume to try and break you up or anything else so pointless, and you can be assured of my discretion. I suppose there's no point now in insisting you get stocked up on condoms considering you obviously haven't used them for quite some time, however… if you do decide that you wish to have some tests done, let me know and I will sort out how to do it without putting you at any other unnecessary risk."

"Thank you Professor," said Harry quietly. Draco nodded silently; he seemed preoccupied.

"Well," Lupin got up and drummed his hand on the table a couple of times before rubbing the back of his neck. "I've got to finish compiling some reports before Severus comes back but I'll be down later for your party, Harry, and sorry for this but it was necessary… happy birthday…" he left the room and the kitchen door swung shut behind him with a clunk and a click.

Draco rested his forehead on the table. "Hey," Harry unlinked their fingers and rubbed the back of the blonde's neck soothingly. "It's okay. Lupin's very discreet."

"One fucking thing after another when it comes to us, isn't it?" said Draco, but Harry knew that his bitter tone was directed not towards him, but to the situation in general. He sounded as though he was staving off tears, so Harry pulled him against him so that his side was cradled against his chest, albeit slightly awkwardly across the two chairs. "I've never been tested for anything," he admitted, hoarsely.

"Well I wasn't HIV positive before so I really doubt I am now, and we have to be logical. You've only topped the very first time we did it and since then I've only been with you…Draco I don't think I can have given you anything, if that's what you're worried about."

"Would you ever want to receive again though?"

Harry kissed the crown of his head slowly, thinking, "of course I would, if you wanted to. I'm open to anything you want, you know that."

"Then I should get checked. I could be a carrier of HIV even if it never manifests itself. My parents never talked about anything like this with me, it wasn't done, taboo… one of them could have been a carrier and made me a carrier, we'll never know unless I'm tested. Christ, and that one time I took you, I bet I didn't use a condom then, did I?"

"No, we didn't have any," Harry said, remembering that Draco still didn't know exactly what had happened. He shook the thought away; he had spent enough time being guilty about that. He sighed, "Things like this always happen on my birthday. I was having a really good one too."

Draco leaned back and regarded him. "I don't want you to use a condom when you make love to me," he said, quietly but strongly. Harry made a face as if about to say something, but Draco continued firmly, "I want the feel of your skin moving in my body, not a slippery bit of latex, and it's a lot more pleasurable being able to feel you come in me, even if it is messier." Harry blushed. He knew Draco was trying not to, as he never talked this candidly about the physical act of sex outside of gasped entreaties in the heat of the moment. "Please don't use one because of this conversation," he finished, resolutely. Harry nodded.

"Okay…" he leaned forwards and offered the blond a comforting kiss. Draco shifted off his own chair and straddled his lap to give him a proper cuddle. "God, that conversation was excruciating, wasn't it?" Harry muttered, "I never knew Lupin had it in him. And I can't believe he told me about him and Sirius after all this time. I thought he was never going to own up to it."

Draco laughed unexpectedly. Harry frowned at him questioningly. "Are you blind, Harry? The werewolf's 'back catalogue' as he put it, is looking bloody interesting… I mean he's obviously shagging Snape."

"What?" Harry's mouth dropped open at a comical angle and he gave his lover a rather incredulous look. "You can't be serious."

"Oh I've had a hunch about it for a while, I could be wrong but I doubt it… when you and I were fighting, ages ago, I heard them talking in the study and I was eavesdropping because I wanted to know what the Order was working on, when suddenly I heard a sort of groan and snogging-ish noises. Might've been something else but I doubt it. I'm not sure whether they're in a relationship, but maybe they're… taking their frustrations out on each other…" he waggled his eyebrows and smirked. Harry made a gagging noise.

"I think I was better off not knowing. Now every time I see them together I'll be wondering if it's true."

"Well then you can feel my pain. Come on, what shall we do? It's your birthday, we need to do something more fun than mope about talking about Lupin's sexcapades."

"It's pretty hot outside… could get some seekers' practice in?"

"You're on."

Harry and Draco spent the next few hours balancing on their brooms in the back garden, perfecting the new seeker tricks they'd found in the Quidditch magazine, gradually joined by Ron, Ginny and Michael (who was treated less than civilly by Malfoy after a frosty reception, and barely tolerated by Ron who had hoped that Ginny had broken off the relationship during the OWLS), and later by the twins who seemed content to accept Draco as another Quidditch practice player rather than the unwelcome extra. It turned out to be a pretty good eighteenth birthday after all, topped off by the small party of friends and Order members that evening, the climax manifesting itself in the form of Mrs Weasley's incredible Birthday cake, featuring an intricate Hungarian Horntail crouched atop of a giant snitch. Hermione took several photos of it from different angles using her muggle camera before they could bear to cut into it.

Her present to Harry had been extraordinarily touching: the photograph of himself and Draco asleep in the lounge, showcased in a beautiful silver frame. But nothing could compare to the Malfoy signet ring, which he wore on a chain he'd got from Hermione's jewellery collection while the party was in swing, so that no one else would see it, but that he would keep with him always. The ring, and Draco's words to him upon bestowing it, was more important to him than any gift he could possibly have received otherwise. As soon as the last guest had left, he slipped it back onto his finger and sat for a while on his own, looking at it. It was a beautiful ring, and clearly centuries old if its dated design was anything to go by. The Malfoy crest was quite lovely too; he'd never really looked at it before.

888

_[B The Prank _

"Oh nuuuugh My God Harry Fuck Me Good!"

Harry folded his arms and gave Draco a disapproving look. It was three days since his birthday and tonight the only inhabitants of the house were himself, Draco, Ron and Hermione, and Ginny and Michael, who were staying until the next day because Ginny had known she wouldn't be able to share a room with her boyfriend at the Burrow and so had appealed to Harry's sense of charity. The Order was out on a raid and so Draco had decided it was the perfect opportunity for a little payback. It was becoming apparent that Michael was more than a little uncomfortable with the nature of Harry and Draco's relationship, which after some debate they had let him in on to try and make things less awkward. This idea had not had the desired effect. Harry could understand why a straight guy might feel a little uncomfortable left in a room for a while with two blokes who liked to snog each other, but Draco's reaction to his homophobia was to plot angry revenge, and now he was taking it. Ginny and Michael had taken Ron's room next door and Ron was upstairs in Draco's room as he didn't use it anymore. As a result, Draco was currently standing next to the wall and hollering obscenities through it.

"Oh my God, oh my _God_, yes, yes, there!"

Harry eyed him. He himself was sitting in bed with his back against the headboard, wondering whether they were actually going to have any real sex that night. If so, Draco would definitely be a lot quieter –neither of them were anything like this noisy in bed, and he knew for a fact that hell would freeze over before Draco 'talked dirty'. Thank Merlin. "Draco, this is highly undignified."

"Shut up, I'm not going to stop until that homophobic little shit comes in to investigate just how depraved we really are. Oh –oh –oh –OH! Why are you stopping, don't stop! –Smack me!"

"Smack you?" Harry raised an eyebrow.

"What else is kinky?"

"I have no idea but I think we'll both be very sore tomorrow morning judging on this…" there was an angry sounding rap at the door. Draco gave him a triumphant look. Harry glared at him, got out of bed and opened the door. Ron and Hermione were on the other side. Ron had one arm over his eyes while the other hand was raised to knock again.

"I don't want to know what the hell you two are doing but stop it," he said.

Harry groaned. "_I'm_ not doing anything. Come in, maybe I can have someone sane to talk to…"

They came in and sat gingerly on the bed. Harry shut the door again and threw himself back onto the bed, face down. "Please tell him to stop it before I have to kill him," he mumbled, muffled by the bed. Draco banged on the wall defiantly and shouted 'Oh fuck, fuck, fuck me I want your cock, yes, give it to me!'

"Er, what _are_ you doing?" asked Hermione, looking green.

"I am not giving in until that creepy little homophobe Corner comes and makes me shut up. He's been acting as if we've got some sort of disease since he got here and I'm not letting him leave without getting him back."

Ron, who'd been staring at Draco as though he was a complete lunatic, broke into a grin, "Brilliant! Right we're staying to see what happens. That little git's been pissing me off for the past three days."

"Oh bloody _hell_," Harry groaned. Hermione pursed her lips but said nothing. Harry suspected that she also found the situation quite amusing.

"YES, YES, YES… ah –ah –fuck, more, please Harry…" Draco was shouting, banging on the wall again, "Oh! Smack me again! …what else is kinky, I can't think of anything…" he hissed.

"Er… say something about Quidditch, Michael loves Quidditch," said Ron. Harry kicked him in the thigh.

"Oh God, come on Harry, come on, take me like you take the snitch, every time, every time, oh my goddy-god… that's so good, there, there, please harder!" Draco was hammering on the wall. "Merlin's bollocks, this is sounding like a proper ride," he commented, expelling a couple of 'I'm about to orgasm'-ish sighs loudly enough to let them carry through the wall. Harry groaned again and put a pillow over his head. "Ohhh… ohhh… ah… ah Harry, I'm going to come, come with me…" Harry dutifully poked his head out from under the pillow and released a loud groan at the same time as Draco made his 'coming' noise.

There was silence for a moment.

Harry glanced up. Ron was giving Draco a rather disappointed look and Hermione had gone beetroot-red with embarrassment. Draco raised an eyebrow and gestured with a finger to Harry, "wait for it."

BANG BANG BANG. "Harry James Potter, _open this door_!" Ginny did not sound amused.

Draco strode over and pulled open the door. "Weaslette. Corner. How lovely to see you."

Ginny gaped at him, and then at the trio on the bed. Ron started laughing whilst trying to keep his mouth closed. As a result he went purple and expelled the compressed air in a snort. Draco's smirk twitched. He was the epitome of the cat who had got the cream. "You –you –you sick bastard!" Ginny goggled.

Draco calmly leaned past her and grabbed the shell-shocked Michael Corner by the front of his t-shirt. "Newsflash, Corner," he drawled, sounding more like the old Malfoy Harry remembered than he had done in a long time, "you can't catch it. Now take your homophobic self and fuck off out of here. I want you gone by tomorrow." Then he shut the door in his face.

Three seconds later, he burst out laughing as well.

888

_[C Results_

"Negative, all negative. Thank you God… what about you?" Harry looked over to Draco who had just opened his own tests for sexual diseases and HIV.

"Negative as well," said Draco, showing him. He screwed the results into paper balls and chucked them at the kitchen bin. "No condoms for us, whee!" he jumped into Harry's arms and wrapped his legs around him. "Shall we go and consummate that?" Harry cracked a grin and apparated them straight into their bedroom. Things had been tense during the week awaiting the test results that they had allowed Lupin to get processed for them through a contact at St Mungo's, and it didn't help that they were so cooped up at number twelve. No matter what they felt for each other, living in each other's pockets non-stop was draining. Draco left to house when summoned, but that could hardly be classed as a happy holiday.

He laid the blond on the bed they'd appeared beside and lowered himself over him to kiss him on the cheek lovingly before capturing his mouth in a gentle but thorough kiss. Draco pulled him more securely on top of him and carded the fingers of one hand through the hairs at the nape of his neck, the other arm wrapping around his shoulders. Harry pulled away to smile softly into his shining face before stroking a cheekbone and bending to kiss him again. "Mmm," Draco tugged at the hem of his t-shirt and Harry raised his arms obediently.

"How do you want it?" he asked, trying not to get distracted by Draco's hands on his torso, mapping him, as he got to work with the buttons on the blonde's shirt. He finally wrested the last button free and dipped his head to kiss and lick the hollow beneath Draco's Adam's apple as his hands coasted up his sides and rubbed his thumbs in a rotating fashion over his nipples, which he knew were one of the blonde's most sensitive areas. Draco murmured a quiet mew of approval and writhed slightly from his ministrations. Harry moaned softly in response, shifting his attentions up the pale neck and over the Slytherin's chin to his mouth again. They kissed languidly. Draco curled a leg around his and rocked them gently in a soothing, not sexual, rhythm.

Draco turned his head slightly to break the kiss. Harry nuzzled the bridge of his nose, reaching down with one arm to flip the button and unzip the fly of the blonde's trousers one-handed. He didn't have to ask before doing things like that anymore and it was fantastic when he looked back and realised how far they'd come. "We're not busy today, are we?"

"Don't think so," Harry sat up a bit so that he could help Draco get the rest of his shirt off. He divested himself of his other garments while his lover pulled his own trousers and socks off – Harry usually took his boxers off for him; a sort of ritual.

"How about really, really slow then? We haven't had the time recently, and with the tests…"

"That sounds… mmm… good…" Harry crawled on top of him again. He liked it when they went really slow. They could last for ages and gently rock each other to completion whilst concentrating more on kissing, which thankfully Draco also seemed to feel was an underrated area of making love. He licked the area of skin on the side of his lover's neck, just under his ear. Draco panted.

"Please." If Harry got into it, sometimes he would spend half an hour or so just on the foreplay, body-worshipping Draco and getting him ready for him, telling him how beautiful he was, reassuring him in a way. But when the sex was going to be slow, he had to save some of that for later, so he took the hint and moved down the pale gleaming body, pausing to bite gently little nips to his jumping stomach muscles, licking the hollow of a hip bone as he drew his boxers off him and dropped them over the side of the bed. Softly furred thighs parted for him trustingly. He stuck his nose into the sandy brown pubic nest as he probed.

Above him, he heard Draco's breath still and he reached the other hand up (the hand wearing the signet ring, Draco may have noticed) to caress his flat torso again in stroking circles. Draco's hand closed over his and he linked their fingers together, distracting him from the mild discomfort of preparation by laving his groin just enough to excite but not enough to cause any frustrations. He knew by now that the first stage of preparation was the most uncomfortable part of making love for Draco, as although they were very sexually relaxed with each other now, out of respect for his attitude to it they still made love less frequently than one might expect from two eighteen year-olds. It didn't bother Harry in the slightest; in fact, it had made him appreciate the act more, and even though they did indulge in more frantic spontaneous coupling, it was this unhurried loving that he favoured.

He placed a sloppy open-mouthed kiss to one of Draco's inner thighs, earning him a blissful sigh before he moved to lean over him again and press his mouth to the soft lips. "Ready?" Draco nodded and wrapped his legs around his back so that he would be able to lie flush against him. Harry removed his fingers and stroked his hips with both hands before pushing in carefully; watching the blonde's face for any discomfort, but there wasn't any. Once he was fully joined to him he linked their hands again and lay more comfortably over him so that they could talk and kiss easily. Draco's ankles slipped down his back automatically into the most comfortable position. The familiarity never ceased to touch him. "Here?" Harry shifted slightly. Draco gazed into his eyes glassily for a moment. Harry changed his angle a little. "Here?"

"Oh," Draco gasped softly, leaning completely into the pillows. "Yes, there." Harry leaned down and kissed his neck, cheeks, and lips. They spent the next fifteen minutes minutely rocking, kissing each other, Harry's hands cradling his face and hair, Draco caressing his collarbones and shoulder blades, enjoying the closeness. They broke for air again and Draco smiled fondly at him, pushing his fingers into Harry's hair as the brunette rocked a little harder for a moment so that he wouldn't get too over-relaxed. "Oh…" Draco's hands tightened in the raven locks for a moment and Harry locked eyes with him. "Ah yes… that feels really incredible…" he tilted his head back. Harry leaned down and licked the arch of neck presented to him. After a few minutes of torturing them both he eased off again. Draco opened his lightly closed eyes and craned up a little to lick him on the corner of his mouth.

"Draco," Harry felt a strange tightening in his chest. He licked his lips and tasted Draco's spit there. "I know I've never said it, but you're the best thing that's ever happened to me."

Draco flushed, pleased but a little self-conscious, "Harry…"

"No, please, I mean it: the best thing."

"What about the past? The bad past," he clarified.

Harry gazed down at him. He could hardly believe he was holding him in his arms, but he was and it was perfect. He had never felt so much that he was part of another person, and that that person was a part of him, until this moment. "All things happen for a reason, and those things have brought you to me. I would change nothing. You are everything to me."

Draco swallowed salt. A trickle of moisture that he didn't think was sweat seeped into his hairline. "You're everything to me too. Harry I – this is what I want." Harry rocked into him again. "Oh…humm… don't, I won't last…"

"I don't know if I can hold on, we've been making love for nearly half an hour."

Draco groaned and undulated against him again. "God, I don't want this to end…"

Harry snickered softly into his hair, "well now we're a couple of negatives we can do this as often as you want…" he planted a nuzzling kiss to his temple, trying to slow down again despite himself. They managed another ten minutes of slow swaying before Draco's legs started tightening on him and after five minutes of gasping thrusting and stroking they both came off together, gazes locked. If there was another way to finish, Harry didn't know it. He lay gasping into Draco's sweaty neck, automatically reaching up to brush the blond fringe off his forehead. Draco wrapped his arms around him and held him until they had both regained their composure, then let Harry move off for a moment so that he could pull out, and when he did so he paused for a moment to notice some of his release trickle out of his body, reminding him what they were celebrating. He looked up to see Draco watching his reaction. "How …um, how does it feel?"

Draco sat up. "Don't you remember?"

Harry thought. "Not really."

"Well, I don't know what to say. I mean, it feels good, it feels hot and sliding, but really it's just that it's your release, not any particular sensation. Come here and lie with me, you're all the way over there."

"Sorry," Harry rolled back over to him and entwined their bodies, Draco against his chest.

"I still have to go to that Death Eater meeting tonight."

Harry traced a finger over the Dark Mark. "I hadn't forgotten. You will be careful, won't you?"

"Always." Draco leaned up and kissed him.

888

_[D Falling _

Grimmauld Place was growing progressively more crowded as the months progressed and Harry sometimes wished he hadn't been so quick in the beginning with his hospitality, especially when the to-ing and fro-ing got too much and he sometimes didn't get to see Draco for days at a time. That was hardest. The Dark Lord was moving and his plans were becoming more politically minded and streamlined in their production. The Order needed all the information they could possibly glean from Snape and from Draco, although the latter was a considerably small blip on the Death Eater scale. Snape was barely at headquarters, a part of Voldemort's personal inner circle, and when he did appear it would sometimes be for the merest of firecalls. Harry noticed, since Draco's revelations, that Lupin seemed to be the first one to go to Snape whenever he made a reappearance. He tried not to speculate on the truth of their involvement –in public they certainly restrained themselves to their habitual civil and polite indifference, although Harry did notice that Snape was more cordial to Lupin when his visits were short, as though compensating for lost time. Whatever was between them, it was none of his business.

Harry felt unhelpful and stifled, and he was not allowed to do a lot apart from help plan Order raids that he was not allowed to participate in. Draco at least got out of the house; although he would probably rather that was not the case under the circumstances. Harry knew that he had to be a 'good boy' and stay put until such time was they were ready to move en masse against Voldemort himself. But that didn't stop him pressing his face against the bedroom window as the days grew steadily darker again and the autumnal rains added to the dismal climate, watching the drops slide down the outer panes as he waited for the tale-tale click of the door that signalled Draco's return.

One afternoon near to the end of October, when Harry had felt as though he had been cooped up inside for almost a year, there was a very rare occurrence of himself and Draco being home alone in the house for once. They had been together for almost a year, if one didn't count the infamous Christmas Incident, and Harry found that realisation a lot less terrifying than he had thought it might seem when he had considered the future in previous private reverie.

They were lying on the hearth rug in front of the lounge room fireplace, which was easily the largest and most effective grate in the house, whose heating system Harry still had not been able to get a chance to invest in. Draco was leafing through a stack of parchments and marking off dead, alive and suspected captured Death Eaters and Order members on a long list of names. Snape had been provided with an identical list and they had been asked to mark them separately so that they could be compared to see how varied their information was. Harry was lying on the rug gazing at the fire and contemplating occlumency and how he could improve before Snape's next session with him. Draco was studying it as well, but he was a lot more proficient at it than Harry. Thankfully, Snape had seen nothing…untoward…of his relationship with the Malfoy heir.

A warm hand pressed him in the chest and his jerked out of his reverie in time for Draco's pushing him flat onto his back and plying him with an insistent but gently lingering kiss. Harry grinned at him as Draco leaned down to stare at him, his hair all pinky-golden in the firelight. "And what was that for?" he asked, cheekily, reaching up to brush some locks away from Draco's high forehead. Draco smoothed the front of his t-shirt stroking his torso through the fabric. Harry breathed in a little on instinct –his six-pack had long since faded. "Don't poke my fat bits," he admonished, playfully, "you might wake up one morning and not fancy me anymore."

Draco quirked an eyebrow at him and ignored this by tugging up the garment so that Harry's stomach was exposed. He looked at it and prodded it deliberately before planting a kiss on the slightly dimpled navel. Harry was indeed sporting a tiny roll of excess just above that navel, but Draco wanted it there. "It's very nice," he said, indecisively. Harry laughed. Draco joined in but then gave him a more serious look. "I do fancy you."

"After all this time?"

Draco took a breath inwards and looked down on him steadily. "The more I love you, the more I want you." Harry blinked at him; lips parted slightly, his breath stilled. "I love you, Harry. I've been waiting for a moment to tell you for… um, I love you."

"I-" Harry paused. He wanted to say that he loved Draco, but he had never said those words to anyone, not family, as he had none to love, and although he loved Ron and Hermione, it wasn't the kind of love to actually say those 'three little words'. Draco moved over and held him again, as though sensing his hesitation.

"You don't need to say it back," he whispered, rubbing Harry's side comfortingly. "I just wanted you to know. Now and forever; I love you."

Harry tilted his head and looked into the grey eyes, alight with earnest hope and love. He reached up and kissed him. "Make love to me."

"Harry-"

"I'm ready. I've been thinking about doing it again for a while now, and everyone's out right now… Draco, make love to me?"

Draco's gaze swept the length of his body, his eyes darkening imperceptibly with desire. "Yes," he said breathlessly. He wet his lips. "Yes. I…here?"

"I was hoping in bed," said Harry, then added quickly, "but the rug's fine, if you'd prefer."

"Are you really ready to do this?" Harry nodded. "I think the bed then." Draco stood up with slight apprehension and extended a trembling hand to Harry, who took it and didn't let it go. Instead of apparting to the room, he allowed Draco to lead him by the hand as they silently and a little nervously ascended the stairs, although the unrestrained kiss in the stairwell certainly killed a little of the tension.

They reached their bedroom, entered and shut the door, locking it as a precaution. Harry stood still as Draco circled his arms about his waist from behind and planted sensual open-mouthed kisses along the curve of his neck. Harry placed his hands over Draco's, glancing at the signet ring out of habit as he did so. He could clearly see Draco's Dark Mark from his angle and he caressed the lines of it lightly as his eyes focused on their unmade bed. He felt like a virgin again. But there was nothing he wanted more than this right now. He was shocked to realise that this was the truth. He spun round in Draco's arms and kissed him fiercely. The blond expelled a mew of surprised but attacked his tongue with equal fervour.

After a while they stilled into a steadier pace and Draco drew away, stroking Harry's cheek. "Don't rush, we have hours before anyone's due back. Relax, you're making me nervous."

"I feel like a virgin."

"Me too. You need to help me, all right? I don't want to hurt you."

Harry shook his head. "You won't. But if you did it wouldn't matter." He stepped back and pulled his t-shirt over his head. Draco moved towards him and guided him backwards to lie on the bed.

"Allow me." He divested Harry of the rest of his clothing and then stood taking his own off. Harry propped himself on his elbows and watched him. The beauty of Draco's body never ceased to enrapture him. The blond stood there for a moment, all angles, sandy body hair and pale gleaming skin. Harry held out a hand to him.

"Come and make love to me." He was so enthralled that he wasn't even aware of how sappy his line had been until Draco cracked a smirk at him and quipped, "in that order?" and fell down on top of him.

Harry slowly relaxed into the sheets as Draco started mapping his body. It was odd relinquishing all control to his lover, and though he knew there were no rules that said he had to, he wanted this time to be all about Draco taking from him, and Harry giving himself, as Draco had done every other time they had made love.

"Part your legs," Draco encouraged, settling between them at first rather than trying to immediately touch him. He cradled Harry's body to him and kissed him softly over and over on the mouth until Harry leaned up and drew him in for something more lingering. They were both trembling slightly, and Harry knew that in a moment Draco was going to start touching and preparing him, and he had never done that, not even whilst going down on Harry, never again since that first night out for good school behaviour; an encounter that seemed a million years ago. He began to move down his body, caressing and nipping his collarbones in a familiar gesture, then dipping down to lave and bite gently on first one nipple, and then the other. Harry panted under the careful foreplay and felt the heat begin pooling in his groin, his body starting to respond. Draco was already getting quite hard without Harry having touched him, and that was very reassuring because Harry didn't feel as though he could do much else other than be submissive right now.

He realised that Draco's palm had begun caressing his thigh whilst the other explored him and he willed himself to stay calm and not to tense against the sensations he hadn't felt for so long. It did feel good, he had to admit, and he'd known it would with Draco. The blond had begun to kiss him in some more intimate places now and he mewled softly, clutching the sheets loosely. One of Draco's hands reached up and stroked his wrist. He opened his eyes and looked down to see the blond staring up at him. "Is this okay?" he asked. Harry nodded dumbly, knowing that he didn't have to be able to form a verbal answer as Draco could read the emotions on his face like a book and always had done. Draco smiled softly and leaned back to plant a kiss on the inner hinge of his knee. "I love you."

"Draco, I think I'm ready."

"Are you sure? I really don't want to hurt you Harry."

Harry extended a hand again and Draco moved up his body again so that he was positioned over him in a mirror of how Harry had taken him the last time they had made love. Harry drew his legs up and Draco pulled them over his shoulders to make it easier.

"Ah-"

"Am I hurting you?"

"Don't stop-" Harry gasped again before he could block it. He did hurt, quite a bit, but he desperately wanted Draco to continue and he was almost all the way in.

"Harry I _am_ hurting you, I'm going to pull out-"

"No!" Harry gripped his arms reflexively. "Please, don't stop. You have no idea how much I want this. Oh God, Draco," he breathed in an out a couple of times to dispel the dizzy haze onset by inexperienced penetration. He opened his eyes and gazed up into the anxious face, breaking into a smile. "You're in me. You're in me."

"Is it okay?" Draco asked, worried.

"Amazing," Harry breathed. He relaxed and loosened his legs until they fell into a more comfortable wrapping position, pulling Draco down to him to kiss him. Draco gasped and plundered his mouth unrestrainedly. Harry moaned and Draco released him briefly. "You can move now," Harry panted.

"Are you sure? I'm not sure I'll be able to last long, you're very tight," Draco admitted, sounding strained.

"It's okay, it doesn't matter what happens; it's perfect."

Draco leaned in and brushed his lips to Harry's, "It is perfect. I love you, I love you," he mumbled the repeating words into his mouth, beginning to rock, and somewhere as if by magic, he found the most amazing angle, and Harry was arching up into him and clutching his shoulders, and he was shouting his lover's name as he had never done in bed, and Draco was replying over and over that he loved him, that he loved him so much.

Afterwards they lay curled together in a simmering puddle of emotions until Draco suggested they take a shower, which they did quietly, carefully washing each other, and when Draco did find where he had accidentally made Harry bleed he managed to not overreact and simply hold him still for a short pulse of healing magic. They dried off and got changed into loose t-shirts and boxer shorts before snuggling into bed together.

They were lying sideways on, looking at each other's faces carefully, kissing and nuzzling, hold each other close. 'We're lovers,' Harry realised, suddenly the thought coming very clearly in his head. 'We're lovers who make love to each other and who say I love you. This is the pinnacle of my life.' "I love you," he said, frankly.

Draco stared at him, smiling, before pulling him in for a kiss. "I love you," he mumbled, and they passed the words back and forth between them for a while: I love you – I love you – I love you –

"Don't move," Harry wiggled out of bed. Draco propped himself on an elbow and watched him go to the chest of drawers and rummage about in it. "I have something for you. I was going to give it to you this Christmas, but I think now is better…"

He scuttled back across the cold floorboards and slipped into the bed. Draco squawked as his cold toes brushed him. Harry sat up facing him. There was a ring box in his hand. Draco sat up quickly, staring at it. "It's not – er," Harry opened the box and offered it to him. Draco inhaled slowly and took the gift out. "I know it's not an heirloom like the one you gave me, but I don't have any heirlooms, so I had a new one made. I found the Potter crest in a book in the library one day when you were away, and Ron and Hermione took the design to a goldsmith in Diagon Alley… is it…?"

"Um," Draco pressed his lips together, blinking wet lashes. "It's beautiful," he met Harry's eyes, "put it on me?"

Harry look a deep breath and slid it onto Draco's ring finger. They both looked down at it silently for a while.

"Thank you," Draco whispered, hoarsely. He pulled Harry into him and clutched him bodily to him.

Harry stuck his nose into the blond locks and grinned, tasting salt in his own mouth. "There's a chain under the velvet so that you don't have to wear it on your finger in times of risk. I had Lupin and Hermione help me put a few curse protection spells on it. They're not that amazing, I'm afraid, but-"

"I really love you, Harry. I know we've been saying it but I mean it completely."

Harry buried his face in the curve of Draco's neck. He had never felt so many emotions at once. It was overwhelming. "I love you too."

888

"Harry? Malfoy? Are you two in there?"

Harry rolled over and picked up his watch. They must have fallen asleep, the others had all started to start filtering back into the house and Hermione was at the door. He padded over and opened it, blinking in the hallway light as the bedroom was now swathed in shadows. He ran his fingers through his messy mop of hair and squinted at her. "Hey, what's going on?"

"Oh, um, sorry."

"No, it's okay, we're just sleeping," Harry said, as Draco rolled over and made a 'nurgh, wass?' noise that meant he was waking up. "What's up? Where is everyone?"

"Well, the aurors are back, there're all drinking through your tea en masse, I think they're going to have a meeting if you want to look in. Snape's here, he wants to speak to Malfoy in the study."

"Hang on. Actually, you can come in if you want, we're both clothed… Draco?" he leant over the bed and stroked his hair a couple of times. Draco opened one eye and looked at him. "Time to get up, people are coming back and Snape wants to see you in the study."

Draco propped himself up blearily. "Oh, hello Granger. Harry, pass my trousers? I'd better go down and see what he wants. Damn where's my other sock?" he shucked his trousers on over his boxers and smoothed the creases out of his t-shirt. Harry was turning on the gaslight and received a peck on the cheek on his way out.

Harry went and lay on the bed again, not caring much about his state of relative undress. He put his hands behind his head and grinned at the ceiling.

"You look like the cat that got the cream," Hermione remarked, settling down next to him, though she didn't actually lie down. "What's happened?"

"He said 'I love you'," said Harry, smugly.

"Really?" Hermione edged closer to him, "what did you say?"

"I let him make love to me."

"Wow. Harry that's um…how was it?"

"I've done it before, Hermione."

"I know, but…"

"It was amazing. I mean, not to go into detail but it hurt after such a long time, but it was really good. And then afterwards I told him I loved him too."

"Wow," said Hermione again. She fidgeted a little, and then said, "How can you tell?"

"I'd been thinking about it for a while, but after this afternoon I just looked at him and he was telling me that he loved me and I realised I did too. Mione, I gave him the ring."

"You did?" Hermione's eyes widened. "I thought you were saving it for Christmas."

"I know but this seemed like a better time. I – hey, what's going on with you and Ron now? Have you slept together?"

"Harry!"

"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to."

Hermione picked at a thread on the bedspread and bit her lip. "I can't do it. I'm not ready, Harry, what's _wrong_ with me?"

"Ah, Hermione," Harry turned towards her and put a hand on her wrist. "It's not a race. To be honest I wish I'd waited for my first time to be with Draco. At the time I was just depressed and wanted to sleep with someone who didn't know I was famous, and I had been thinking loads about death so I didn't want to die a virgin… they weren't good reasons, Mione."

"I just… we've been together for so long… what if he decides I'm not worth the trouble?" Hermione's eyes began to spill and she wiped them furiously.

"Hey, hey!" Harry scrambled up and put his arms around her. "Hermione, Ron loves you, you know that, he'd never dump you over something as stupid as that!"

"I know, I know, sorry," Hermione sniffed. "It's just, I sort of want to, and we're not, you know, the 'nun couple' or anything, but I want to be sure inside that it's because we both want to, because we love each other, and you know, not because there's a war on and we're afraid of d-dying before it happens!"

Harry stroked her hair quietly for a while. "Does Ron know how you feel?" he murmured.

"I'm not sure. He's never pressured me, but when Ginny started sleeping with Michael Corner he did change a bit. I don't think he likes being a virgin next to his little sister."

"Well that's something he'll just have to suck up and deal with. Don't do it until you're ready Mione, take my advice. It's never so amazing as when it feels right."

888

Harry awoke and saw the shape of Draco hastily moving about pulling robes on in the dark.

"Draco?"

He turned, surprised, face softening when he saw that Harry had woken up. "Shh, I've been summoned. Got to go –Snape's downstairs waiting for me."

Harry sat up. "How long?"

"I don't know, Harry, I'm sorry it was a bit quick," Draco's frown melted and he swiftly strode over for a brief hug goodbye. Harry nuzzled his shoulder whilst he slipped the Potter signet ring off his finger and transferred it quickly to the chain around his neck, concealing them down the high neck of his heavy robes. He leaned down and kissed the brunette thoroughly, trailing a finger on his chest briefly, unable to resist a tiny touch of the gloriously naked skin. He had taken Harry again that night (in fact they had recovered enough to take it in turns) and it had been the most fantastic lovemaking in his life. He pressed the tip of his nose to the Gryffindor's for a second before bestowing a last chaste kiss. "I'm sorry but I have to go."

"I love you."

"I love you. More than anything else." He turned to leave.

"Draco!" He stilled briefly, turning at the door. He was late and that would not bode well. "You will come back." A statement and a question.

Draco shot him a parting smile.

"Go to sleep. When you wake up, I'll be here. I promise."

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_I tried to give this chapter everything. Domesticality, humour, teenage angst, parental (pseudo) episodes, first loves, important proposals... not because I want to churn it out but because I want to, but because this chapter was about all the important things in life, and in a nutshell they are living, love, laughs and also a few doses of excruciating embarrassment... and in my story Harry gets to experience all of them in his life, despite It All, because he and his mates are, let's face it, just a Bunch of Teenagers. _

_Anyway. Please take the time to review._

_love to all readers, even those who don't review, _

_skinnyrita _


	16. Chapter 16

Hello everyone, firstly I would like to apologise for the long pause between the last chapter and this, the final chapter. There will be an epilogue at some point... thank you for everyone's patience and for their lovely reviews. However, I suspect I may get some flames after this one. I was going to change it, but then I thought no, this was always the way the story was going to end, and i would be a coward if I didn't write what I had planned, so here it is: voila!

Enjoy!

Disclaimer: Harry Potter is a creation of JK Rowling and this fanfiction is in no way affliated with the original stories.

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**First Loves Last Forever.**

_Being the Final Chapter of 'One Night Out On Good Behaviour' _

_By skinnyrita_

When Harry awoke, his scar was on fire. He unrolled himself from his foetal position with effort and clapped a hand to it, struggling to get himself into a sitting up position, hindered as he was by the pain and the cumbersome bed covers. He thrashed for a moment, digging with his elbows against the pillow to try and haul his aching body round a bit. When he took his hand away from his forehead he realised that it was wet with sweat and he wiped it blindly on his sheets before groping about on the bedside table for his wand. "Lumos!" Only now in the circle of yellow light could he see that what he had mistaken as sweat was in fact a red glutinous substance and on closer reflection through his haze of sleep and foggy pain, he could identity is as blood; blood that was now all over not only his splittingly painful scar, but now also his hand, his sheets and the handle end of his wand. In fact he was covered in the stuff.

Alarm bells going off in his head prompted him to sit up fast, a wave of dizzy nausea whacking him on the head as he swayed out of bed and stumbled towards the door, only to have it fly open in his face and Hermione's whitely outlined eyes shoot him with an expression of fear and shock.

"God – Harry!" she exclaimed, and pulled up short, as though so taken aback by his appearance, which must have been quite galling to confront, dripping as he now was with thin rivulets of sweat and blood, and now the hot and stinging beginnings of tears of agony in his own anxiety as to what could possibly have happened to cause such a reaction, that she had momentarily forgotten what she had barrelled in there to rouse him for in the first place.

"Draco, where's _Draco_?" he shouted, wiping his already bloodied hand across his forehead once more as though that could erase the now pulsating pain reverberating through his skull.

"Yes, they're back, but Harry -!"

Whatever Hermione had been about to tell him was lost to distance as Harry tore past her and hammered down the stairs, two, three at a time, a feeling of dread pervading all other senses. At the first floor landing he crashed straight into Ron, who stared at him for a moment. They both paused, static. "Oh, _Harry_," he said, and the weight of his own name gripped said boy with a sudden all-consuming _fear, _and he groped in the half-light, finding Ron's forearms and resting on them desperately.

"Where is he?"

"In the study. Snape's with him."

"_Please_…"

Ron half picked him up, and led him quickly down the hall without further comment. The gas lamps were on low in the end room, sending a long rectangle of amber light across the floor and up the opposite wall. Lupin was leaning with one hand on the doorframe, looking grave. He glanced up as they approached and his mouth parted as though he wanted to say something about Harry's appearance but in the end all he did was nod towards the door. Harry was staring in, still, and with Ron's arms around him. "Severus," he heard Lupin say, steadily. Snape was within, he had a hand on the blond forehead and his profile looked very grave. Draco was lying prone and pale on the couch but his eyes were open. Harry saw his lips move but he couldn't hear anything he said. The Potions master looked round at the sound of Lupin's voice and frowned at the sight of Harry and Ron in the doorway but he came to them anyway after murmuring something close to Draco's face. He stroked his hair in a manner of affection that Harry and Ron had never seen from him, and then stalked back towards the door.

"What is it, Remus?" he hissed, looking very agitated, "and what is Potter doing here?"

"Severus give me a moment, please," said Lupin, steadily. He motioned Snape towards him and muttered a few sentences that Harry couldn't even try to listen to, so fixed was his unblinking and immovable attention on the pale boy lying on the couch. He heard Snape's over-loud exclamation of "they WHAT?" but apart from that he had no sounds that could reach him over buzzing white noise of silent panic.

"Harry, Harry," Lupin put his hands on his shoulders and very gently turned him to face him. "Harry, I need you to be very brave now so that you can go in there and talk to him, can you do that?" he asked, kindly. Harry shook his head dumbly.

"N-no," he croaked, miserably, his face crumbling again.

"Mister Potter," Snape said, both brusquely and yet softly, "Mister Malfoy has ingested a very … a very _detrimental_ poison, and he _is_ going to die, and so you must go and see him. He has been asking to see you. But I won't have you upsetting my… my _godson_," his voice cracked uncharacteristically on the last word and Harry's attention flicked onto him immediately, registering the pale man's inner fight for his habitual composure, "you need to be calm and talk to him and tell him anything you need to say before he… he _goes_, _Remus -_" he turned his face away from Harry's, a curtain of black hair immediately obscuring his expression. Lupin took him by the arm instantly and steered him further down the corridor. Harry saw him crumple against the shorter man. Broken, he would remember thinking later: Broken.

"Go in, mate," said Ron, quietly.

Harry licked his lips, terrified. He couldn't go in and be calm and collected, he couldn't do that. He couldn't imagine Draco dead, the idea was absurd and he felt a sudden compulsion to laugh; one that was instantly quelled by fear. He took a few shaky breaths and Ron steered him gently but with finality, over the threshold. Somehow, he was standing before the couch, looking down on Draco's peaceful, pale face. His hand reached out of its own accord, trembling fingers brushing pale strands away from a soft temple. Draco opened his eyes and gave him a faint smile before his expression turned to that of concern.

"Oh Harry," he said, softly, "You're hurt."

Harry shook his head frantically for a moment, realising how horrific he must look, covered in blood as he was, although thankfully now clotting, and carefully seating himself on the side of the couch not occupied by Draco's slim frame, now looking more delicate than ever. One of his hands was almost touching Harry's thigh, and he reached down and held it carefully, tightly but not too tightly. He stared down at their linked hands and at the Malfoy signet ring he was wearing and felt his eyes fill with tears again.

"Aren't you going to talk to me?" Draco whispered, stroking his wrist fractionally with the pad of his thumb. Harry drew in a breath again, swallowing his tears and remembering that he wasn't supposed to upset the other boy, and shook his head, minutely. There was nothing he could say without breaking down right now. He wasn't strong enough for that. "Are you angry with me?" Draco's voice was small and pained. Harry looked up quickly, wiping tears as they trickled into the blonde's hairline.

"No, of course not, shh," he whispered, urgently, "I'm angry with me, not you."

"I came back. I promised you. See?"

Harry stared at him for a moment. He could feel his own breath still in his throat.

He leaned down and kissed the blond softly on the forehead, cheeks and finally his lips, his free hand carefully stroking the still soft but now colder to touch neck and throat. The blue veins were standing out in sharp relief beneath translucent skin. He felt his fingers meet a fine length of chain, and he pulled it out of Draco's robes immediately. The Potter signet ring he'd had fashioned rolled against his palm.

"Can you put it on me?"

Harry sniffed and nodded. He undid the chain with more ease than was belied by his shaking hands, and carefully slid the ring, chain and all, onto Draco's ring finger, before kissing the hand it adorned, tenderly. He cradled it against his face for a moment, trying to regain a little control, and think of something he could say that wouldn't upset Draco, but his mind was a blank. Instead, he climbed carefully onto the couch so that his whole body was there, touching his lover without leaning on him or causing him any pain. When he felt a cold hand reach out and touch his chest, he remembered that he was only wearing pyjama bottoms, and that only a few hours ago they had both been in this position, sated and happy and in a cloud of emotion after making love: Draco making love to him, and he making love to Draco. It could never happen again. His face crumpled and he hid it in the blonde's neck.

"I love you _so much_… please… don't _leave_ me here…" he didn't need to say 'alone'.

"Harry, _please_…" he heard the tears in Draco's voice and raised himself up to look down on his face immediately. The blond swallowed, however, and regained some control of himself. He even smiled at him. "Harry, I love you so much, please, don't be afraid. Don't be scared." And Harry understood: Don't be frightened, because I am terrified right now.

"It's alright," he offered a watery smile in return and stroked the bridge of his nose against the blonde's, "I'm not scared anymore," he lied, "it's okay." He pressed another trembling kiss to the bluish lips and felt them part beneath his, and he worshipped the blond carefully, realising that the other boy now had no strength left to respond.

"Harry," Draco sounded faint. His eyes fluttered shut and then opened again. Harry pressed his own hot cheek against Draco's sallow one, so that their lips were both right at each other's ear. "I've got to go away now, but I need to tell you something."

"What is it?" Harry whispered. The terror that was scrunching his guts was in his throat and in his head and in the spaces behind his eyes reserved for tears.

"_I love you_, I will _always_ love you. Forever. And I have no regrets." Draco's voice was very clear and steady, and Harry didn't trust himself to turn his head and look at him. "Say you feel the same."

"But –but I regret letting you leave tonight!" Harry blurted. A fresh rush of hot salt escaped and washed his face and Draco's ear.

"Please Harry," he repeated, and this time he sounded a lot fainter, "say you have no regrets."

Harry pressed his lips to the blond temple and shut his eyes tight. "I love you now, and I love you _forever_," he choked, "and… _and I have no regrets_." He drew in a shaking breath, and blinked rapidly through the next well of tears obscuring his already dismal vision. He looked down.

Draco was looking up at him. But his eyes were still.

"Goodnight," Harry whispered. His neck was so taut he thought he might snap a tendon. With a quivering hand, he turned the frigid lids closed, and then one more kiss to the still-parted, still-perfect mouth. When Snape re-entered the room some five minutes later, he found the ebony-headed boy curled up against the prone form of his godson, shaking with disbelieving and despairing sobs, alternately pressing his wetly streaked cheek to the unmoving chest, and stroking the prone hand still wearing the gleaming Potter ring.

The boy was dead.

888

"_NO_! NO, NO, PLEASE, _PLEASE_, _DRACO_!"

"Harry, he _must_ be buried, Harry calm down, _calm_-" Lupin deftly avoided a distraught Harry's flailing arms and allowed Ron, their 'plan B', to come up behind him and gently but firmly get a grip around said arms and pull him backwards until they were both in one of the armchairs, Harry half seated on his best friend's lap. Lupin and Kingsley carefully levitated the limp body of Draco Malfoy onto a woven mat, which Harry knew from History of Magic, was a traditional alternative for high-ranking wizards as opposed to coffins. The deceased was laid onto a woven tapestry mat adorned with funeral runes, and then the body and mat were both wrapped in the colour and a plate crest of the family – in Draco's case, French blue velvet. They had found a Malfoy crest plate in the attic amongst some of the artefacts the Order had kept after clearing out the rooms, which was lucky as the only other conceivable place they would have found one was Malfoy Manor itself, which was currently under Ministry control and no one knew that the heir to the manor had been living at 12 Grimmauld Place.

Harry burst into tears, though he sagged against Ron and stopped struggling. "Please don't put him in the ground," he sobbed, sounding a lot younger than his eighteen years, and not at all like the controlled and capable Harry they were used to dealing with. Another death was proving very hard on him, and given his much more intensely personal relationship with Draco, they had allowed him to remain on the couch holding him until dawn, but this had proved to be a possible mistake, as now Harry was inconsolable to the fact that Draco would need to be buried.

Ron wrapped his arms more securely around him and made a comforting 'shh' sound, turning him gently into his own shoulder so that Harry wouldn't have to see them wrapping his lover's body, obscuring his dead face from the world. He rocked him soothingly, and even rubbed his cheek against the unruly mop of black hair before kissing him on the top of his head. Harry held on a little tighter to him and cried some more, burrowing his face into Ron's shoulder. He could feel Harry's tears seeping through his own t-shirt. "They need to bury him, Harry," he said, quietly, calmly, controlled, "but they're going to do it in a very special way, a traditional way for the heads of important wizarding families, so he would have known he would be buried that way… is that okay? How does that sound?"

Harry sniffed and nudged Ron's arm mutely, prompting him to wrap him again. It was a bit embarrassing to cuddle up to Ron, but he knew that his best mate wouldn't give him any stick about it. "Has he got my ring on? He wanted my ring on," he whispered.

Ron glanced up and noted Lupin checking and then nodding at him before the blue velvet covered that portion of Draco's body. "He has got it on and no one will take it off, I promise."

Harry considered. "Okay then," he whispered, before subsiding into mewing sobs again. Ron sighed, feeling like crying himself, and rubbed the knobbly vertebrae of Harry's bare back as it shuddered under his warm hands. Hermione came in at that moment and put a blanket over them both, tucking the ends under the armchair cushions. 'Thank you,' Ron mouthed at her.

'No problem,' she returned, and gave him a wan smile before glancing at the wrapped body. A section of velvet fell down over Draco's peaceful face, and her eyes spilled with silent tears suddenly; a hand over her mouth. It was hard to believe that someone their age, that they had grown to know quite well, was dead, when yesterday he had been alive. She turned back to Ron and nodded when he mouthed again to ask if she was okay.

'Where's Snape?' he mouthed, frowning. After finding Harry inconsolable and his godson dead, the professor had disappeared somewhere else within the house and hadn't returned, not even to help with the ritual wrapping of the body. Hermione shrugged and shook her head before leaving the room again. Ron watched the last stages of the wrapping until Lupin and Kingsley were ready to levitate Draco's body out of the room and downstairs, where a funeral bier they had managed to acquire at very short notice, would be used to carry Draco's body manually to the end of the back garden, where two aurors had been digging a grave since sunrise. He realised that Harry had fallen asleep on him, exhausted from grief, and didn't want to wake him before they were ready for a proper funeral, so he carefully gathered his friend and the blanket into his arms and apparated them into his room – Ron's room, not Harry's. He doubted that Harry would want to wake up with the lingering smell of Draco all around him, at least not quite yet. Instead, he laid him in his own bed, and after a moment's hesitation, got in as well, though fully dressed, and cradled him carefully in his arms.

When Harry woke up again, it was mid afternoon and he was in strange surroundings, and still very tired. Thin sunlight was filtering into the untidy room, and there was an arm slung over his waist, and he began to curl into the embrace on instinct before he realised that the arm was freckly and did in fact belong to Ron. He turned to look at his best mate's sleeping face, and the movement caused the redhead to jerk awake abruptly.

"Ah, sorry, I think I dozed off," he said. He gave Harry a sympathetic smile. "Are you alright?" Harry nodded, and then burst into tears again, instantly dismissing that theory. "Ah, come here, shhhhh, come on…" He cradled Harry against him and let him cling onto him, and soak him with tears once again.

"I just don't understand!" Harry cried, the words thick and appalled, "I… don't _understand_!"

"I know mate, I know, it's okay, I'm here," Ron cuddled him tighter and pressed his own lips together to stop himself succumbing to tears when Harry was in need for him to be strong. "It's not really clear what happened yet but…"

Harry swallowed a thick ball of mucus and gurgled "but _what_?" at him.

"Harry are you really up for this conversation?"

"Yes, yes, please," Harry pressed his now crustily bloodied forehead against Ron's shoulder and took a great sniff, "I want to know what happened."

"Well I can't tell you everything, just what I know from Lupin. You-Know-Who took Malfoy into a room to talk to him and all that we know for sure happened was that Snape was waiting for him, and when he came out he told him that You-Know-Who had given him something to drink… they didn't know what it was… Snape said to Lupin he thought that You-Know-Who had cast legilimens on him to try to get information he thought Malfoy was withholding."

Harry sucked in a breath, "oh God," he said quietly.

"Snape did try to get a potion that would do something to help him, Harry," Ron continued, steadily, "apparently he apparated them to his own house first and tried three different antidotes but he couldn't figure out what You-Know-Who had given him, and then he thought it must be something You-Know-Who had made up himself."

"Where is Snape?" said Harry, suddenly remembering the revelation that Draco was his godson, something Draco had never even told him, which made him wonder whether he had even known.

"Erm, I'm not sure. He um, went somewhere on his own, but he might still be in the house… do you want to talk to him?"

Harry thought about it. "No." He suspected that Snape would be at Draco's burial anyway. The thought caused fresh tears to spill themselves silently down his dirty face. "He kills everyone I love," he whispered brokenly, meaning Voldemort and not Snape, and knowing that Ron would realise that immediately. Ron cuddled him for a while, and it was comforting, but it wasn't Draco.

Later, after the funeral, he would lie curled in front of his lover's headstone for hours at a time, trying to get close to him, and wondering, in the dirty grass, how on earth he would go on now. He could have been anything, but he was this. Their NEWT results had come, finally. Draco had achieved straight O's bar one E. He could have gone on to apply for any job he could possibly want. It was so ironic that it brought tears to his eyes. The war was closing in on him on all sides but for Harry the war had already taken everything from him. At night he would lie in his bed, empty and alone, inhaling the smells of Draco, of his clothes, his pillow, anything and everything he had ever touched. He checked the presence of the Malfoy ring compulsively, terrified that it would fall off and he would never find it again. He wanted desperately to make love to him again, and to be made love to; to be _enjoyed_, and these thoughts left him in a dizzying spiral of shame, misery and arousal that he was too mortified to deal with.

He knew that he had to get up and do his job now, he had to carry on and start fighting again, take part in the Order meetings and continue his bit in the war that seemed to go on forever. He had to be strong, hold his head up, grit his teeth, make Draco proud of him, and let the sacrifice of his life not have been in vain. But the sense of loss he felt was like nothing he had ever experienced, not even after Sirius. Despair ate at him every hour, inside and out, making the simplest task a chore, and digesting food impossible – he began to lose the weight he'd gained at headquarters, through constant bouts of miserable vomiting.

During that time, it felt to Harry as though he could never be whole again, and never cease to grieve. Although he was not wearing mourning clothes – because he didn't have any – his sobriety was no less potent in his mind and in his actions. Sometimes, months after Draco's untimely death, he would find himself looking on detachedly as the other members of the Order went about their duties and missions, working tirelessly towards the war effort, and he wondered whether anyone besides himself had truly even noticed the end of the Malfoy line, and the passing of its beautiful heir. As the year melted into the next, he sat on the frozen ground with his back to Draco's headstone, wondering what on earth he was going to do, and grieving for an imagined future, the signet ring feeling loose on his thin fingers.

888

One night, three years to the day of his lover's passing, he stood up and brushed his re-nourished hand across the lettering in a gentle caress: dimmed though they were by the failing light of dusk, he knew the inscription by heart:

_Here Rests Draco Lucius Abraxus Malfoy_

_1986-2004_

_Beloved and Missed_

It was a simple epitaph, but accurate. Not a day went by that he didn't still miss Draco, although the ache had faded now with time, and he was more consoled to his own fate in turn: if this war should take him, well he would be with Draco, and should he survive, he would live the life they could have enjoyed, for the both of them. He hoped that he would live, and enjoy a time of peace that Draco had never had the time to experience. The 21-year-old Harry was a far wiser and steadier being than his eighteen year old counterpart had been. The war was drawing to a close around them, and although it was taking time, the Order and their affiliates were confident of victory.

The defeat of Voldemort himself had been a bloody but surprisingly brief experience, the then nineteen-year-old Harry rushing into the breach with grief and vengeance to power him – and about fifty aurors and Order members behind him. He turned away from the graveside, chuckling in remembrance of his own foolhardiness. Sheer dumb luck and determination: that was what Moody had termed his victory. And of course the war had been by no means over. Older and wiser now, he could understand more of the politics of the movement, the terrorism and the ongoing human struggle. But certain groups had been apprehended, starting with the Death Eaters and petering out in dribs and drabs and short-burst battles, treaties and talks, and with any luck, they would be in the blue within a short time. His own part in the war was over, by and large, although he was still a paid up member of the Order – still making free of his house, he noted, as he tramped down the lawn towards the back door. The brightly lit kitchen windows were propped open a space and the enticing smells of the evening meal were drifting out.

Harry made his way up to the study, only to stop short on the threshold, wondering for a moment whether he'd be welcome. Snape was sitting in an armchair turned toward the fire, his legs stretched out before him, fingers steepled and expression pensive. He started momentarily as a squat glass of red-amber liquid was thrust under his nose and he inhaled the shocking kick of alcohol before he took the drink from the familiar hand that offered it.

"You looked like you could use one," Harry commented, collapsing in a more ungainly manner onto the sofa, his own glass of firewhiskey held aloft to prevent spillage. Snape nodded wordlessly and took a sip, his attention on the fire. Harry knew that the older man was either thinking of Remus, or his house, and neither of them were good subjects. Harry had been two weeks shy of his twentieth birthday when Remus had been brought back dead. Shot, he found out later, by a silver bullet. Instantaneous death. Snape himself had carried him through the floo, curtly informed Dumbledore that he would no longer be continuing his services as a spy, and laid Remus on the table. Harry had wanted to go to him immediately, but Hermione had held him back. 'I think there's someone else who needs to be near him even more than you do right now, Harry,' she had said. Later, when the aurors had taken Remus to be cremated, as his will had dictated, Harry had found Snape sitting alone in the very chair he was in right now, his head in his hands. He had not found the courage to bother him that time.

"I hope you'll stay with me," Harry said, casually, knocking back a third of his drink. Snape turned his head and looked at him. His house had been destroyed by a group only a few weeks ago and he had been unofficially crashing at Grimmauld Place ever since, although Harry knew he had been looking for another residence.

"Why?"

Harry quirked a grin at him. Not turning him down flat immediately? A good sign. "Purely selfish reasons, really. The Order is slowly evaporating – not before time, but I don't much fancy living here all on my own. Living with my mates would only ensure that we come to be mates no longer… and, I'd like it if you'd stay. Sometimes I feel as though you get me, Severus."

Snape raised an eyebrow at him. He had given Harry permission to use his name, but they rarely ever did. It seemed the young man was serious. "Rent?"

"None. Various people have been living here for years now. To start calculating rent seems ignoble."

"I see." He cleared his throat quietly and stared into his glass. It was half full. Or half empty. "I shall consider it. Thank you, Potter."

Harry smiled to himself, satisfied. No good deed too small, and all that, as Ron would say. Snape had moved in within the week.

888

"Oof! Bollocks!" Harry fell out of the fireplace and immediately landed on Snape, who was himself in a shameful state. He giggled in an ungainly fashion and stuck out a hand to pull the older man from the floor. They leaned on each other for a moment until Snape mentioned something about water and coffee. "We should have a midnight feast," Harry declared, disentangling himself and traipsing towards the stairs that led out of the kitchen, in search of some more comfortable clothing. It was the night following Ron and Hermione's all day wedding reception, and he was more than a little worse for wear in terms of drunkenness, but it was warming him in a happy way and giving him courage.

Snape turned and leaned on the counter as he heard Harry's footsteps on the stairs again. He had just drunk three glasses of water in succession but they didn't seem to have done very much as he was still feeling pleasantly inebriated. His 'landlord' appeared in the doorway wearing a threadbare dressing gown, a charming grin on his face that Snape just knew meant trouble. "What?"

"Shall we have a midnight feast?"

"That depends… does it contain more alcohol? I'm not sure I'll survive…" Snape tried not to notice his own voice slurring slightly, but Harry did and he laughed as he lurched towards him.

"You look good like this," he said, looking at Snape appreciatively. In the interim between Harry's departure and his water, he had rid himself of his dress robes and cravat, leaving him in an open-necked shirt and loose dress trousers, which fell beautifully on his slim frame. Harry put a hand on his chest to steady himself, although he was suddenly feeling a lot more sober, and felt Snape's heartbeat quicken just a little. Unlike Draco (oh God, Draco, what a moment to think his name), Snape was on level with Harry's height and so he could look straight into his dark eyes for a moment before he closed the small space between them and pressed his lips gently to those of his former professor.

"No," Snape mumbled, pushing at him ineffectually, parting their mouths but not managing to distance their bodies. "We can't do that. Harry."

Harry pushed back, "fuck, _yes_, _we can_." Snape's lips were dry but soft under his own. His hair had been pulled back into a simple ponytail that accentuated the high arches of his fine cheekbones, that Harry's fingers were now running over, framing the still handsome face. In the past year of living together, Snape hadn't seemed so much older than him, so far removed… he moved his hands to the man's waist, bearing him back against the counter as he deepened the kiss, moaning into it, God how long had it been since he had felt like this? He felt one of Snape's warm hands part his dressing gown and then still, uncertain for a moment as they met with bare skin, before sweeping the length of his abdomen greedily, mapping him. The dressing gown hit the floor as he managed to get Snape's shirt open and away from his shoulders though not off, exposing pale, scarred skin. He dropped his face down to the juncture of neck and shoulder and feathered kisses there. "Severus, please." He felt Snape's breath hitch with temptation and their shared need.

Then he was on the table, with Snape above him, his shirt gone. He was artistically scarred, but in surprisingly trim shape, and he wanted him badly. Harry felt hands on his stomach and thighs, just steering clear of his boxer-clad groin, and a mouth, hot and wet, all lips and tongue and teeth, on his neck. He gasped with recalled sensation, jostling his housemate from his actions.

"How long?"

"I… four years?"

Not since Draco then; Snape might have known. When Harry opened his eyes again he was lying on soft pillows, and realised that Snape must have apparated them both into a bed. "I don't receive," he was saying.

Harry swallowed and caught his challenging gaze with a heated look of his own: "I do."

The sex felt brief although it probably went on for longer: Snape was biting him –biting him! - on the chest, and then he was stretching him, thoroughly but impossibly quickly, and then he was inside him and there was no way in hell that Harry could have pretended that this man was Draco, even if he had wanted to: Draco had been hesitant and obliging, this man was commandeering and experienced, strong and determined to get his pleasure as well as ensuring Harry's, and he was kissing him, and moaning to him, and Harry's own arms and legs were tightening on his back, his mouth gasping, and then they were brimming over and over …and then they were asleep.

When Harry awoke, he was a sticky naked sacrifice, laid out on a strange bed – Snape's. The older man was sitting on the edge of the bed wearing a dressing gown, but he looked at Harry when he realised he was awake. "I'm so sorry," he said, looking at him with an unreadable expression.

"Sorry?" Harry sat up and stared at him. "I thought you wanted me…"

"I took advantage," Snape said, bluntly, turning away from the lithe form on the bed. "I feel like such a… paedophile!" He put a hand over his mouth.

"Severus, no," Harry put a hand on his shoulder, teasing his ponytail gently, "look, I am twenty-two, and I was a very consenting adult last night. If anything, I took advantage of you. From what I recall, I did sort of… attack you." He let his hand slip from Snape's shoulder, and drop to caress his spine through the dressing gown, remembering what it had looked like last night, lacerated with scars of varying lengths and thickness. "If you still want me, come back to bed?"

"I shouldn't. You're still half my age."

"As if that matters to me. You've got a killer body hiding under this gown, Snape, it's a crime that you keep covering it up," he tried to banter lightly, but it seemed as though Snape wasn't having any of it, and he relented, leaning back onto the bed and covering his modesty with a sheet. "What is it?"

"I'm not him, Harry. I can't be. Draco is dead." He didn't mean to sound so harsh. Harry dropped his gaze to the Malfoy signet ring. In four years it had never left his finger.

"I could never mistake anyone for him," he murmured softly. He glared at Snape's back. "Well I'm not Remus, either."

So his surprise, Snape laughed, and turned round to look at him. A laugh could knock at least five years off him, Harry noticed. "That's a different kettle of fish entirely. Remus and I were not exclusive. Don't be so romantic." Harry frowned at him. Snape smiled pensively and ran the tip of his finger along the side of his torso that the sheet hadn't quite covered. "You really are very attractive, Harry, but I'm not the only one who would say you're too young for me."

"I don't care what they say," Harry pressed a hand into the dressing gown. "I have an old mind. I've seen too much to be too young for anyone. Do you want me?"

Snape shut his eyes. "Yes."

Harry leaned up and kissed him, before pulling him down on top of him.

888

"He's just a _boy_, Severus! A boy who has led a very damaged life! _How could you do this_?"

Snape resisted the urge to raise a hand to touch his burning cheek that Molly Weasley had just slapped. He could not have been caught by a worse person, ravishing Harry on the couch, than this woman. Harry, mortified, had apparated upstairs to get dressed. Severus was having a dressing down… in his dressing gown. He glared at the mother hen, angrily. He had been sleeping with Harry for nearly a month now, a very private and tentative relationship, and not once, regardless of how young and beautiful his lover's body was, had he ever thought of him as a 'boy'.

"He is not a boy, he is twenty-two," he snapped.

"_You_ are forty-five! How could you do this, Severus? _Why_?"

"I am forty-_four_ and that is besides the point. We're two gay men who live together, Molly, we have needs, even _he_ has needs, and he is by no means a boy, he is a man. He hasn't been a boy for a very long time now, in case you hadn't noticed!" he breathed harshly, hurt by her. He blushed as he realised he had blurted about their physical needs, and hoped she wouldn't call him on it. In truth, their time since the initial encounter had been spent in almost a blur of sex, pleasure, and indulgence…

"He was your student!"

"And he hasn't been so for four years! I have done nothing wrong here!" he felt close to tears for the first time since Remus' death. Harry took that moment to appear in the doorway, the first thing he saw being Snape's face: white on one side, bright red handprint on the other.

"God, Severus," he turned his face gently to have a look at it, but Snape had had enough.

"Leave it," he muttered, and made his exit quickly, leaving Potter to deal with an irate pseudo-mother.

He was standing staring blankly out of his bedroom window when he felt hands rest on his waist a half hour later. Soft lips pressed against the curve of his neck and he leaned back despite himself. "I'm sorry," Harry murmured, pulling his hair aside so that he could kiss his nape. "So sorry."

"She's right though. You should be with someone your own age. Stop it, Harry, I'm serious!" he turned in the younger man's arms and regarded his falling face. "I think you should start dating again. Get out there. We always said this was just sex for us… I'm calling you up on that now: For my sake as well as yours: please, don't make me feel this indignity again. End it now."

Harry sucked in a breath and looked at a point over his shoulder, although he didn't move away from him. He knows I'm right, Severus realised. "Are you going to leave?"

"Not unless you ask me to. Living with you was a good decision."

Harry snorted and gave him a hard look. "But sleeping with me wasn't?"

"Don't. Please."

"Alright."

That night they had the best sex they had had yet. They both assumed it would be the last time they ever did so.

888

It wasn't.

It wasn't right, Harry thought, as he passed over another lover. He had been dating on and off for twelve years now and had never stayed with a lover for more than a year. They all seemed to want something from him, something he couldn't give: they all wanted 'Harry Potter'. The real thing wasn't quite as appealing as legend. He had taken to staring at the picture of himself and Draco, asleep on the sofa, whenever he was feeling especially pensive. Though that portion of his live had seemed so important at the time, it now seemed like distant memory, or at least parts of it did. The night he had let Draco take him, that had stayed as fresh in his mind as if it had happened yesterday. The feeling of release as he had let Severus take him after Ron and Hermione's wedding… that too was etched on his brain forever.

He was thirty-four now, and wiser to the world, and to love, than he had ever been, and yet it still eluded him and misguided him into the arms of lovers who wanted his name, his fortune and his celebrity, to wear it like a brand and wrap themselves in reflected glory. He paused outside the door he was about to knock on and considered his actions again. Severus was fifty-seven since the previous week, and age had enhanced him like a wine. The twenty-two year age gap between them seemed a lot smaller now. Of course, wizards had a longer life span than muggle men, and so Snape was in his prime… he couldn't believe what he was about to do. He wanted to, badly, but he had grown into a fantastic relationship with the man and was loathe to ruin it. His hand rested on the worn wood of the doorframe, at odds over what to do.

As usual, it was Severus who decided for him. The door opened before Harry could knock, and he was standing there looking at him with his usual unreadable expression, before taking his hand, smiling, and leading him into his room. The door shut behind them and the house was still.

888

"_I love you now, and I love you forever."_

First loves last forever. Not a day would go by that Harry was not reminded of, or thought in some small way, of Draco, even years on, and in the arms of others. Not a day passed that he didn't wear the Malfoy signet ring, and the slightest glance at it served as a gentle and constant reminder of love.

He lay on his side, wrapped in warmth, legs spread gracefully to welcome Severus into his willing body, eyes shut as he experienced again the masterful loving he had let go so many years ago, holding the other man's arms around his waist as they merged together, melting in tandem… and he knew that this was not just sex with them, not this time.

Draco would always be his first love. Perhaps Severus could be his last.

* * *

Please review, it's lovely of you.

skinnyrita xxxx


	17. Epilogue

She said it that knew it best: yes, there were a lot (and I mean a lot) of flames for the final chapter, and I think I answered all of them. I respect people who flame without switching to 'anonymous' to do so, and so you will never get any grief from me for expressing your opinions - they're what I wrote this for, after all. However, there were equally as many positive reviews, and I want to thank you all equally for your feedback, long or short, posititive or negative (or in some cases, bloody outraged!). Oh, and I apologise for making people cry - I cried too, if that helps. I was going to make you all stew for the Epilogue, but i wrote it in longhand last night and thought I would get it typed up and posted now before the new term starts - too much work on for fanfiction now. Thank you to all who have reviewed, and all who have read without reviewing as well, and in particular to those who have reviewed throughout the whole journey. You've been great - you know who you are.

Here we go then: the epilogue. Enjoy.

Disclaimer: I am most definitely up to no good. Sorry.

* * *

"_**One Night Out on Good Behaviour."**_

_**By skinnyrita**_

**The Epilogue.**

****

"Do you ever think about Draco?" Ron was sitting in a large squashy armchair in his and Hermione's lounge, his slippered feet resting on the coffee table. Harry smiled at him pensively, before responding.

"It's so funny you should mention his name. I was only thinking about him the other day. Funny."

"Thinking about love, were you?"

He rubbed his jaw line thoughtfully and picked up his mug. "Not exactly," he said, taking a sip, "more general reminiscing, I suppose. We hated each other so much in school, even our relationship, it was so volatile, now that I look back, it almost deserved chapters… I missed him so much at the time, but thinking back on it now, we were so young, I wonder if it really would've lasted?"

"Unlike you and Severus, you mean," Ron said, shrewdly, twisting round briefly to check that his kids were still in the garden and hadn't 'gone exploring' again. "You bloody old married couple."

Harry nudged him with the side of his foot. "Look who's talking. But yes, that's what I meant. I don't know… I never stopped loving Draco, but in my head he'll always be eighteen. We're all perfect at eighteen. Sev's pushing for sixty in three months – we need to plan a 'do, by the way – and I swear the bloke just gets better and better looking… I have more greys than he does, you know, I think it's genetic – should I get it dyed, d'you think?"

Ron quirked an eyebrow at him. "Do whatever you want, you great ponce. I find it very ironic that he's aging so much better than you – it's karma, I tell you – karma for all your life of hideous privilege."

Harry laughed. "Irony indeed. Don't be a bastard." He sobered. "Ron, I think I should tell him I love him, before he tells me to get out and 'find someone younger' – again. I couldn't relieve those years… I just couldn't. They were interesting, but painful. I can't go back there… I think it might be time to finally make this thing permanent."

Ron shot him a surprised look. "In three years you haven't told him that you love him?"

"I've showed him, I think… you know how amazingly comfortable we are together… it's good, in a way, that we did call it off and let me get a bit wiser, get to know each other better before getting back into it… but no, I haven't told him. But now, I want to put him on my will – it's due for a renewal – and so I think I'd better say something."

"I think you'd better, mate. I – oh bloody hellfire, where's Jennifer, she's disappeared, hang on-" Ron trailed off as he'd bolted from his chair and through the French doors behind them. He reappeared a few minutes later, herding the two youngest of his unruly kids before him. "I think these two horrors need a bit of a break in their rooms – calm down a bit – you staying for dinner, Harry?"

"Uncle Harry, daddy's making us go to bed, can't we stay down here?" Ron and Hermione's youngest son was sticking his bottom lip out at him.

Harry blew a raspberry at the children, making them giggle, appalled by the rude noise. "Sorry kiddies, Uncle Harry's got to go, be good for your dad now, and give mummy lots of kisses for me, okay?" He bent down to hug them both and they came away with a sickle apiece – treasure indeed. They stampeded up the stairs: a herd of elephants. Ron clapped a hand on his shoulder and walked him to the floo.

"I'd better get up there before they find some other way to give me a heart attack. Good luck, mate."

He alighted in his kitchen and stood for a moment perusing the pile of post Severus must have rescued from the mat. There were a few bills, which he set aside, and some letters to him regarding charitable donations he had made through the Potter Trust, a fund he had set up at the age of twenty-five, when it had transpired that as the "next of kin" of Draco Malfoy – deceased – he had been named as the sole heir and inheritor of the Malfoy fortunes and estates – it would seem that following her infamous flight to France after the death of her husband, Narcissa Malfoy had never been heard from again. She had been declared legally dead and the family's assets had fallen into Harry's surprised and unwilling hands. After selling the Malfoy property and pooling the fortunes of Potter, Black and Malfoy, he had been appalled at the time to discover how excessively rich he was through inheritance. The Potter Trust had begun as an unobtrusive and legitimate manner of bestowing his wealth on worthy causes, and now boasted over a million donating members to the registered charity.

He skimmed through the requests briefly before spelling them to the study to give greater attention to at a later date. He stared at his hands for a moment as he sorted the rest of he mail into missives addressed to himself or Severus. The Malfoy signet ring caught his eye and he tried to calculate how many years he had worn it. Nineteen? More? He had thought about Draco more in the last three days or so than he had in the past ten years, and he couldn't help feeling as though this was a sign for something. He flicked his eyes towards the back door, wondering whether he should visit the grave at the end of the long garden. It had been many years since he had done so.

When he got down to the graveside, he could see that the grave itself was very overgrown now with nettles, particularly around the stone. He spent a few minutes carefully divesting the area of weeds using his wand, before scorgifying the headstone of moss and the general ravages of time. "Missed." Yes, sometimes that was still true. He missed the boy he had been with Draco. It had all been so intense back then. He traced the letters of the name, thoughtfully.

"I didn't think I'd find you out here."

Harry turned at the familiar deep and steady voice. Severus was standing behind him in the long grass, watching. "No, me either," he agreed, stepping away from the graveside and coming over to loop his arms around the other man's waist. He took in the defined, still relatively unlined face, and the coal black hair framing it – aging better than his own "salt and pepper" tones, as Hermione had termed them. Leaning in, he bestowed a chaste kiss on the soft dry lips. Severus smiled in his own deliberate way, and rested his forehead against Harry's.

"What was that for?"

"Nothing in particular. I love you, that's all."

"I love you too," Severus stroked his nape fondly, "in fact, there's something I need to talk to you about."

"What is it?"

"Come into the sitting room and I'll tell you. It's warm in there." They traversed the length of the garden companionably, and stole a longer kiss in the kitchen doorway. Severus suggested having some dinner before going upstairs, and they cooked companionably, talking about their day and discussing one of the charities that seemed most interested in some further support from the Potter Trust. Over the shepherds' pie, they began to plan the basics of Severus' sixtieth birthday party – he would only agree to something small, and Harry was happy to oblige him on that – neither of them were particularly big partygoers.

They ended up lying wrapped together on the sitting room sofa. Harry leant back into his lover's embrace, putting his hand over the one that had found its habitual possessive place on his waist. "What was it you wanted to talk about?"

Severus shifted and looked down at him. "My will." Harry looked at him, but said nothing. "I know you don't want to inherit any more money, but there's no one else I'd give it to. I had it changed last week. You have my full permission to invest every penny in the Trust, should you so choose."

Harry's hand sifted through the long black locks. "You're not going to die on me, are you?"

He laughed, "not planning on it, no," before kissing him soundly and turning more passionate. Nothing like a little chat about death to make you feel alive. Harry knew full well that as a wizard Severus could expect to live to nearly two hundred if he looked after himself, and it was a sign in his favour that after making it – albeit precariously – through two world wars, he had all this time now and he could be with Harry. Harry who had said that he loved him. They understood each other, inside. He broke the embrace, gently. "There is one other thing that goes with the will."

He got up and went across to the fireplace. Harry was lying on the sofa, watching him. Opening a box on the mantelpiece, he took from it a very ancient object. Harry sat up and stared at him. "I'm not asking you to wear it, you don't have to," he assured him, gently, "I know that the other… has never been cast aside, so all I ask, is that you keep it safe. I do now bestow it to you."

"Thank you," Harry said, quietly. He held it in his palm and looked at it. Severus asked him if he was coming to bed. "In a moment." He kissed his cheek softly and went out, leaving Harry alone with his thoughts.

It was difficult, taking off the Malfoy ring. It had been on his finger for so many years that Harry had to suck it to get it off, leaving a strange taste in his mouth. The taste of change, he thought to himself. His hand looked strangely bare without it, a bright white tan line marking years of shade. He put it carefully into the box on the mantelpiece, and closed the lid on it.

In the dim candlelight Severus had left for him in their bedroom, the Snape signet ring glinted with a single set sapphire in the soft yellow glow. He admired the naked column of his lover's back before stripping his own clothes, folding them carefully, and slipping quietly into bed, pressing a kiss to one scarred shoulder blade and wrapping an arm over the tempting hips. In sleep, Severus sighed and leaned back into his arms. Harry stroked his ring finger with his thumb, unconsciously learning the lines of the new ring as he recalled where he had hidden the second Potter signet ring he had had made.

Closing his eyes, the last thing he remembered before he succumbed to sleep, was the certain knowledge that they were going to be all right.

_The End. _

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